by Lucy Gordon;Sarah Morgan;Robyn Donald;Lucy Monroe;Lee Wilkinson;Kate Walker
She gazed at him, vulnerability in her eyes. ‘I don’t really think about what I wear,’ she confessed, wondering why talking felt so difficult. ‘I know I’ll never be beautiful so I don’t try.’
‘Clever and beautiful,’ he murmured, his hand lingering on the fullness of her breast.
She knew there was nothing amazing or beautiful about her body but the heat of his gaze burned away the last of her insecurities. A small part of her mind was trying to tell her that she shouldn’t be doing this, that this wasn’t what was supposed to have happened between them, but the rest of her mind was completely taken over by the crash course in sensuality that he was currently giving her.
He bent his head to her breast and flicked a tongue over her nipple and hot needles of sharp excitement pierced the length of her body. She squirmed under him and sank her fingers into his glossy dark hair as he continued to subject her to a continuous assault on her senses that left her shaking and barely able to breathe.
‘Nikos—I don’t—I can’t—You have to stop—’ Unable to believe that she could feel like this again, she arched against him in an instinctive feminine invitation and he lifted his head reluctantly.
‘Stop?’ His words were slightly slurred and his jaw was dark with stubble. He looked wickedly handsome and arrogantly male. ‘Why would I stop?’
‘Because we really shouldn’t—’
‘You’re my wife.’ He slid a hand over the gentle curve of her stomach. ‘So we absolutely should.’ His hand moved lower still and she tensed slightly as she felt his touch grow more intimate.
‘Oh—’ She felt him slide a leisurely finger deep inside her and she gave a shiver that intensified as he withdrew his finger and gently, skilfully, drew the tip over the moist nub of her femininity.
Exquisite pleasure shot through her and she closed her eyes and gave a sharp cry that she was helpless to hold back.
Murmuring something in Greek, he spread her legs wide and slid his mouth down her body, opening her and exposing her to the skilled flick of his tongue.
She felt the heat of his breath against her and tried to close her legs but he ignored her feeble attempts and held her wide, allowing himself the access he needed. And within seconds she forgot about modesty and thought only about satisfaction. The lower half of her body burned and ached as he slowly, deliberately drew his tongue over her most sensitive place. She felt his fingers slide back inside her, felt the building pressure inside her body and then everything exploded inside her and her body tightened around his fingers. Her climax throbbed relentlessly, refusing to release her from its agonizing grip, and she sobbed his name and begged him to stop but his tongue coaxed and teased and explored until one orgasm merged into another. For the first time in her life, the entire focus of her world was sensual pleasure and when the explosion and aftershocks finally subsided she lay limp and breathless, eyes closed.
Slowly her heart rate slowed and her breathing approached normal. Then she felt him move upwards and claim her mouth with his.
His kiss was slow and explicitly sexual, an echo of the intimacy that they’d just shared, and she was suddenly aware that his fingers were still buried deep inside her.
‘You feel amazing, agape mou,’ he said huskily as he lifted his mouth from hers and shifted his powerful body over hers, removing his fingers with a slow, deliberate movement that revealed just how well he understood her body. ‘And now I think you understand the true meaning of the word “erotic”, you’re ready to take it all a stage further.’ With masculine purpose and a total lack of inhibition, he slid an arm under her, positioned her exactly as he wanted and thrust hard into her still quivering body.
Plunged from one maelstrom of sexual discovery straight into another, Angie felt him lift her hips and pump with rhythmic force, his dark eyes glittering in his handsome face as he lowered his head and slid his tongue between her lips in a kiss as basic and carnal as the rest of his lovemaking.
She could concentrate on nothing except his body and how it fitted with hers. She felt the thickness and size of his erection, felt his body demand and take, felt hers yield and offer up all that she had to give. He allowed her no escape, no place to hide as he thrust into her again and again, driving them both to a state of suspended desperation.
With a grunt of male satisfaction he slid his fingers into her hair and tightened his grip and she felt everything inside her build to such an intense level that she scraped her nails down his back and arched against him in an instinctive demand for fulfilment.
‘I want you to come again,’ he breathed against her mouth, his words a dark, sultry command. ‘You are going to let yourself go and give me everything that you are. I don’t want you to hold anything back, Angelina.’
His seductive masculine tone barely registered because the demands of her body had long since taken over from her mind as the ruling force. She was so desperate, so frantic for respite from the almost vicious throb of sexual desire, that she was willing to do anything, anything, just to reach that point that her body instinctively craved.
With a low murmur of encouragement he shifted the angle of his body, raised her hips higher and thrust hard into her silken sheath. The throb became concentrated on just that one part and she felt her body explode around the solid force of his erection, heard him mutter something harsh in Greek and then knew that he had reached the same peak.
She dug her nails into his shoulder, sure that she was going to die—sure that it wasn’t possible to survive such a protracted explosion of pleasure.
When the delicious spasms finally died away she lay limp and exhausted, too drained to think, let alone speak. She was dimly aware of his weight on her, dimly aware of his harsh breathing and the slick heat of his skin, but she wasn’t able to move. She lay there with her eyes closed, sobbing for breath. ‘I’ve never—I didn’t know—’
‘I thought you said that you weren’t a virgin?’
‘I wasn’t.’ Her eyes opened then and she stared at him with a dreamy expression. ‘I mean I have—but it wasn’t—I didn’t know it could be like that. That was amazing.’ Following an impulse that she didn’t understand, she slid her arms round his neck and hugged him. For a moment she thought he was going to hug her back and then she felt him tense and pull away.
‘It was sex,’ he supplied helpfully, withdrawing from her and rolling on to his back. ‘Glad to know I exceeded your expectations.’
His words jarred, rasped against the soft, lazy tenderness she felt growing inside her.
Suddenly cold, she gave a shiver and reached for the sheet to cover herself, but a lean bronzed hand reached down and stopped her.
‘Don’t cover up.’ His eyes held no trace of affection. ‘When you’re in my bed, you’re naked. That’s one of my rules.’
How could he be so hard after the intimacy they’d just shared? How could he know so little about her when he’d just discovered so much? What had she done? ‘I can’t relax if I’m naked,’ she said in a low voice and he stifled a yawn.
‘Then learn.’
She swallowed, wishing she could be as confident about her body as he clearly was with his own. Unlike her, he made no attempt to cover himself. He was entirely comfortable, almost arrogant, in his nakedness and it was hardly surprising. His body would have been the envy of the most narcissistic Greek god.
Despite her best intentions, her gaze slid down from his broad shoulders. Dark body hair tangled across his broad chest, his abdomen was flat and a trail of hair led the way to the proud jut of his erection. He was arrogantly masculine and the fact that he was still hard brought another rush of colour to her cheeks.
He followed the direction of her gaze, registered her response and gave a faint smile. ‘I need lots of sex. I think I already warned you about that. You’re going to be extremely busy, agape mou.’
Remembering all the things he’d done to her, all the things she’d allowed him to do, she suddenly felt ridiculously shy and would have looked awa
y but he caught her chin in his strong fingers, forcing her to meet his burning dark gaze. ‘Don’t look away from me. I don’t want the archaeologist in my bed, Angelina, I want the woman.’ Having delivered that statement, he shifted slightly so that his mouth hovered close to hers. ‘Outside my bed you can spend all the time you wish examining pots and bones and reading ancient dusty books. But here, between the sheets in my bed, I want nothing but flesh and blood. Remember that.’
She felt cold and hot at the same time, her mind rejecting his words even as her traitorous body flared with excitement. Without the potent drug of seduction to cloud her senses, she was all too aware of exactly what she’d done. And whom she’d done it with. She couldn’t help but be aware of the comparisons he must be making with Tiffany, who’d been so blonde and perfect. She felt so guilty that she’d been intimate with the man whom her sister had loved so deeply.
‘We shouldn’t have done that.’ It had been some sort of twisted revenge on his part.
His smile was wry. ‘Fortunately the body is not as discerning as the mind. And I have to admit that it proved to be surprisingly erotic having a woman who knows everything there is to know about pottery in the classical era and absolutely nothing about her own body. You were an astonishingly responsive and gratifying pupil. Everything I did to you, you just wanted more.’
She found his blatant reminder of the way she’d begged and clung to him intensely humiliating. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Good, because neither do I. Talking about it is never quite as much fun as doing it.’ He sprang out of bed and strolled over to the bathroom. ‘You can go to sleep if you like. I’ll let you know when I want you again.’
Shocked by his gross lack of sensitivity after what they’d shared, she gave a soft gasp and sat up, her hair sliding over her shoulders in soft waves. If she needed any evidence that it hadn’t been special to him then she had it now. ‘You’re completely heartless, do you know that?’ She tried to keep the hurt from her voice but she knew she hadn’t succeeded. ‘I honestly don’t know what my sister saw in you.’
‘You’re supposed to be intelligent. Rack your brains and I’m sure something will come to you.’
Her spine straightened. ‘If you’re suggesting that Tiffany was only interested in you for your money,’ she said stiffly, ‘then you’re even crueller and more cynical than I thought. She liked nice things, of course she did, but she was in love with you.’
His dark eyes flashed a warning. ‘Another rule—we don’t discuss your sister in this bedroom. Ever.’
‘But—’
‘If you really don’t wish to sleep, then I can think of other far more satisfying ways of passing the night than talking.’
The questions froze on her tongue and she flopped back on the bed and turned sideways, curling her legs up in an instinctive gesture of self-protection.
How could she have thought she’d seen gentleness in his eyes? He was incapable of feeling anything for anyone.
No woman had ever hugged him like that before.
Nikos stood under the shower, wrestling with entirely unfamiliar emotions. For the first time in his life, he felt unsettled, uncomfortable and—guilty?
What was the matter with him?
Leaving an extremely beautiful woman exhausted and satisfied in his bed was a common occurrence. Having hot sex with a woman who clearly wanted more from him was another common occurrence. He was used to dealing with women’s dreamy and entirely unrealistic expectations, used to disentangling himself from the potential threat of commitment. He was careful never to use the word ‘love’ and careful not to display affection which might be misinterpreted. So far his strategy had worked. He made his rules perfectly clear right up front and relationships with women had never caused him a problem.
Until now.
Closing his eyes, he let the water wash over him.
Why should his encounter with Angelina have left him feeling guilty?
One hug didn’t change the fact that she was a gold-digging opportunist who had seen a way of landing herself a billionaire lifestyle. Taking up where her sister had left off. She deserved everything she had coming to her and a great deal more.
So why couldn’t he erase the image of the soft wonder in her eyes when she’d stared up at him in the aftermath of their encounter?
Why couldn’t he forget that spontaneous hug?
For a ridiculous, crazy moment he’d been tempted to roll on to his back and hug her in return. Fortunately for both of them, masculine self-preservation had intervened and saved him from an action that would have been as embarrassing as it would have been inexplicable.
The problem, he decided, was that he hadn’t expected the sex to be so astonishingly, spectacularly good. It had thrown him, as had the unguarded way in which she’d hugged him. He wasn’t used to giving or receiving affection. Especially not in the bedroom, where it could be so easily misinterpreted. On the contrary, he was always incredibly careful not to display a fraction more affection than he considered safe and appropriate. He knew better than anyone that women always wanted more from a relationship than men. For him, sex was no more than a physical release. And he intended to keep it that way.
He’d seen firsthand what happened when a man tried to commit to one woman and failed. Hadn’t his father spent his entire marriage failing to resist temptation?
The fact that his new bride was astonishingly intelligent and surprisingly good in bed didn’t change the fact that he was in this marriage because of her greedy, manipulative streak. And it was a marriage he would never have chosen.
He had no reason to feel guilty.
The marriage had been her choice.
Who could blame him for taking advantage of the situation?
Chapter Eight
ANGIE woke to find herself alone in the huge bed and she knew instinctively that it was late. Sun poured into the room through the open French windows and the sight of the perfect blue sky should have been sufficient to tempt even the lethargic on to the balcony.
But she didn’t move. For a moment she lay there, stunned and disbelieving as her mind trailed over the events of the previous night.
Her body ached in unfamiliar places and her mind was tormented by thoughts that she could neither control nor understand.
What had she done?
She’d slept with the man who had broken her sister’s heart. The man her sister had loved so deeply and planned to marry.
Horrified by her behaviour, she sat up quickly and covered her face with her hands. She felt so ashamed. What on earth had happened to her? She should have pushed him away. She should have refused. She shouldn’t have responded to him.
Her brain was so full of things that she should and shouldn’t have done, she could hardly breathe.
What happened now? What should she do?
She heard a tap on the door and her hands fell from her face as she instinctively pulled the sheet under her chin to cover her nakedness. A woman entered, carrying a tray and followed by several other members of staff.
‘Mr Kyriacou gave instructions for your luggage to be brought up. He thought you might like to take breakfast while we unpack your things.’
Things? What things? She’d thought no further than the wedding and she didn’t have any luggage.
But cases and boxes started appearing in the room and were then transferred into the adjoining dressing room to be sorted.
The woman smiled. ‘I’m Maria, Mr Kyriacou’s housekeeper. If you need anything at all, please let me know.’
She melted out of the room and Angie slid out of the bed and hurried to the bathroom, anxious to be dressed by the time Nikos returned. She showered quickly, wrapped herself in a robe that she found neatly folded next to the bath and walked into the dressing room, which was now fully stocked with clothes and shoes.
‘You’re awake.’
The sound of Nikos’s hard tones from behind her made her turn and she instinctively clu
tched the edges of her robe together. Why, she wondered, did he always look so cool and confident, no matter what the situation? After everything that had happened between them during the night, she felt incredibly shy and self-conscious but he barely cast a glance in her direction.
‘Get dressed and meet me downstairs on the terrace.’
She waved a hand at the dressing room. ‘I didn’t ask for clothes.’
‘Consider it one of the perks of being married to me,’ he drawled, his voice faintly contemptuous. ‘You may be an archaeologist by profession but I’d rather you didn’t walk around looking like something that’s been unearthed from the dust of Pompeii. If we want to convince everyone that this marriage is real then you at least have to look like a woman that I’m likely to be interested in.’
Insecurity stabbed through her. Last night, for a short blissful time, she’d felt beautiful. He’d made her feel beautiful. But clearly everything he’d said had been insincere and why that knowledge should hurt so deeply she didn’t understand.
Why should it matter to her that he found her unattractive? Why should she care that being with her clearly embarrassed him?
‘No one in their right mind would believe this marriage to be real,’ she said stiffly, ‘because I would never be interested in a man as shallow as you. And I’m not interested in dressing up and turning myself into the sort of woman who would interest you.’
‘You could spend a month with a stylist and never come close. Make an effort,’ he advised silkily, ‘or I’ll drag you back up here and dress you myself. And, before you even contemplate having a tantrum, let me remind you that you were the one who wanted this marriage. Well, now you have what you want and I don’t want anyone asking awkward questions. I don’t want anything to attract the attention of the media. I don’t want the paparazzi snapping you with a sulky expression on your face and then wondering why. When you leave the villa you’re the blushing bride on her honeymoon. Remember that.’ Without giving her a chance to reply, he strode out of the room, leaving her close to tears.