Securing the Greek's Legacy

by Julia James

  She gazed into his dark eyes. He was right. She had to trust him. He had done everything he had promised her he would and she must do what she had undertaken. Go out to Greece with Georgy, trusting the man who had taken the responsibility of his care upon his own shoulders.

  ‘I do trust you,’ she whispered.

  He smiled. ‘Good,’ he said.

  Then, with a casual gesture, he moved her closer. She nestled against him, his hand still cupping her shoulder, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She found herself getting drowsy, the warmth of the room, the effect of a couple of glasses of wine and the filling food all contributing. Her head sank back against his shoulder, her eyes fluttering as she tried to keep them open.

  ‘You’re falling asleep,’ Anatole murmured, glancing sideways at her. He flicked off the TV programme.

  She smiled drowsily. ‘I’d better get Georgy’s midnight bottle going. He’ll surface for it soon.’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ said Anatole. ‘You head for bed. I’ll bring the bottle in when it’s warm.’

  She uncurled herself and padded off. Five minutes later she was propped up on the pillows, wearing her nightdress, when Anatole entered with Georgy’s milk.

  ‘He’s just waking up,’ she said as he started to stir and kick at his quilt. ‘Up you come, then.’ She lowered the side of the cot and scooped him up.

  ‘May I feed him?’ Anatole requested, looking at Lyn.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she said, slightly confused.

  He moved to sit down beside her on the bed and she shuffled sideways against the edge of the cot, hastily putting a couple of pillows behind his back. He leant back, taking Georgy from her and settling him with the bottle. Lyn felt she should get up, but she was between Anatole and the cot. So she went on sitting there. Propped up. Shoulder to shoulder with Anatole. With only the low nightlight for illumination, the physical closeness between them felt very intimate.

  Georgy sucked greedily and then, replete, let Lyn wind him gently before consenting to resume his slumbers in his cot. As she raised the side again, to lock it in place, she was burningly aware that Anatole was still beside her. She turned to make some kind of anodyne remark but the words died on her lips.

  Anatole was looking at her with dark, deep, long-lashed eyes, his face half in shadow but the expression on it as clear as day. She felt her heart stop, her breathing stop. Everything stop.

  Everything in the entire universe stopped except for one thing.

  The slow dip of his head to hers. And then the slow, soft brush of his lips on hers. The slow rush of sensation it aroused.

  ‘My lovely Lyn,’ he murmured.

  Then his kiss deepened.

  His hand closed around her shoulder, covered only in the thin material of her nightdress. His hand felt warm and strong, kneading at her flesh as he turned her into his embrace. His mouth opened hers effortlessly, skilfully, and sensation exploded within her. Wonder and disbelief swept over her like a rushing wave.

  Was this happening? Was this really, truly happening? Was Anatole kissing her? How could it be?

  But it was—oh, it was. It was! His mouth was exploring hers and his free hand was around the nape of her neck, moulding her to him. He was murmuring something in Greek that sounded honeyed and seductive. Warm fire lit within her, her senses flared...soared...and then suddenly he was sliding off the bed, taking her with him. Sweeping her up, striding out of the room with her in his arms, kissing her still.

  She could say nothing, do nothing, only let him take her, carry her into his own bedroom, lower her down upon the bed’s wide surface. She wanted to speak, to say something—anything—but it was beyond her. Totally beyond her.

  He came down beside her, indenting the mattress with his long, lean length. His hands cupped her face as she gazed up at him.

  ‘My lovely Lyn,’ he said again. And his mouth came down on hers.

  Helplessly, willingly, she gave herself to him, letting him ease her nightdress from her, letting his eyes, so deep and dark, feast on her form, letting his hands shape her breasts, glide along the lines of her flanks, slip under her back at her waist and half lift her to him with effortless strength. And all the while his lips worked their magic on hers, deepening the passion and the intensity.

  She was in a state of bliss. Unable to think, to reason, to understand—able only to wonder, only to give herself to the sensations of her body, her yielding, arching body, which yearned and sought and found what she had never dreamed possible: the wonder of being embraced and caressed by this man.

  Never had she thought it possible! Never had she dreamt of it in her wildest dreams! Yet now it was real—true. He was sweeping her to a place she had never imagined.

  For how could imagination possibly have revealed to her what it would be like for Anatole to make love to her like this? Drawing from her, arousing in her, such incredible feelings that she could hardly keep her senses—so overwhelmed by his touch, his caresses, his sensuous, intimate kisses that sought and found her, every exquisitely sensitive place until her body was a living flame.

  A flame that seared into the incandescence of quivering arousal as, stripping his clothes from his heated body, he came over her, his strongly muscled thighs pressing on her limbs, parting them. His hands closed around hers on either side of her head as his body—naked, glorious—arched over her, his questing mouth taking the honeyed sweetness of hers.

  His eyes were hazed with desire, molten with urgency, as he lifted his head from her. She arched her hips towards his, yearning for the hot, crushing strength of his body. For one endless moment he held back, and then, with a triumphant surge, he filled her, fusing his body with hers, melding them,

  She cried out—a high, unearthly sound—as sensation exploded through her. She heard his voice, hoarse and full-throated, felt the tips of her fingers indenting deeply, so deeply, into his sculpted back. Every muscle strained. Her hips arched against his.

  It was like nothing she had ever experienced! It flooded through her, the whitest flame of ultimate consummation, further and further, reaching every cell in her body, flooding every synapse. She cried out again and the cry became a sob, emotion racking through her at the wonder of it, the beauty of it...

  And then he was pulsing within her, and she was drawing him in, deeper and deeper, with more and more intensity of sensation, more wonderful yet, flowing and filling her like a molten tide. She clasped him to her, tightly and possessively, holding his body to her as, reaching its golden glowing limit, the tide began to ebb, drawing back through her body, releasing her from its wondrous thrall.

  They lay together, their heated bodies limp now, sated, a tangle of limbs half wrapped around each other.

  He cradled her to him, murmuring in his own language words she could not tell. But his hand was warm, splayed around the back of her head, holding her. Her breathing slowed and she felt an echoing slowing in him as well—a slackening of his embrace. Wonder washed like the sweetest wine through her fading consciousness as sleep finally overcame her, and she lay cradled and encircled within the embrace of his arms.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IT WAS THE distant, distressed crying of an infant that awoke her from heavy sleep. Fully waking, she heard Georgy’s wailing. Instantly she was up, fumbling for her long-discarded nightdress and stumbling from the room towards her own. Stricken, she lifted his squalling body and clutched him tight. She never let him cry—never! Guilt smote her and she hugged him, swaying, soothing his little back until he eased, comforted and reassured finally that she was there and all was well. Slowly, very slowly, she eased him back into his cot, stroking his head.

  A sound in the doorway made her turn. Anatole was there, naked but for a towel twisted around his hips, a questioning look on his face in the early light of the dawn.

  ‘
Is he all right?’ he asked.

  His voice was throaty, the timbre of it resonant.

  She nodded dumbly as memory swept over her, hot and vivid. Dear God, had it really happened? Had she been swept off into Anatole’s arms, his bed? Could it be real? True?

  Then he was walking up to her, enfolding her in his arms.

  ‘Come back to bed,’ he said.

  The voice was huskier than before. Its message clear.

  Desire was in his eyes.

  He kissed her. Soft, then not so soft. Slipped his hand into hers, leading her away...

  Much, much later they surfaced.

  This time they did not sleep. This time pale daylight edged past the folds of the curtains, proclaiming the day. She lay in the crook of Anatole’s arm, half propped on soft pillows, drowsy. Fulfilled.

  Hazed still with disbelief.

  ‘Georgy will be waking,’ she said. ‘He’ll be hungry.’

  Anatole reached to the bedside table to glance at his watch. ‘The day awaits,’ he said. He turned back to kiss her softly. His eyes gazed down at her.

  ‘My lovely Lyn,’ he said. His eyes caressed her. ‘So very lovely.’

  Then, with a decisive movement, he threw back the coverings and got to his feet. His nudity was overwhelming, sending her senses into overdrive. Ruffling his hair, as if to wake himself further, he disappeared into the bathroom. Lyn hurried to her bedroom, swiftly showering before Georgy awoke.

  In the shower, her body seemed fuller somehow—more rounded. She was still in a daze, yet it had happened. Her body felt it in every stretched and extended muscle, felt it in the warm, deep glow within her. Her breasts were crested, and she could see with amazed wonder the soft marks of his caressing.

  As warm water sluiced over her, the shower gel gliding sensuously over her skin, she felt again the echo of the heat that had consumed her.

  She dressed hurriedly, pulling on a pair of leggings and shouldering her way into a long, dark blue jersey wool top, loose and comfortable. She dried and brushed her hair out rapidly, not troubling to tie it back, and it tumbled around her shoulders—wavy, wanton. For a moment she caught sight of herself in one of the long wall mirrors in the room, and her reflection stayed her.

  Her eyes glowed with sensual memory. Her breasts strained against the soft fabric of her top. She felt desire stir.

  Then, with a rattle of cot bars, Georgy was pulling himself up to a sitting position and holding out his arms to her. With a smile, she scooped him up and out, and bore him off to the kitchen for his breakfast.

  Anatole was there already, wearing a bathrobe, his hair still damp, fetching cereal and milk, and a baby yoghurt for Georgy. A sudden overpowering sense of shyness swept over Lyn. But he came towards her, bestowing a kiss on her cheek.

  ‘Your tea is brewing,’ he told her, smiling, and settled himself on a stool at the kitchen bar. He nodded at Georgy, still held in her arms. ‘How is our infant prodigy today?’ he enquired humorously.

  Georgy responded to his attention by gurgling, and evincing a desire for his yoghurt, which he’d just spotted. Lyn took her seat, Georgy on her lap, and poured milk into her cup of tea, taking a first sip before reaching for the yoghurt. Somehow her shyness was gone.

  ‘So,’ said Anatole expansively, ‘what shall we do today?’

  He knew what he wanted to do. What he had wanted to do, he acknowledged, since the moment she’d walked out of the beauty salon, transformed and revealed. What had been building since then, hour by hour, until last night it had seemed the obvious, the only thing to do. Follow his awakened instincts to their natural fulfilling conclusion.

  He was not about to question it, analyse it, challenge it. It was, after all, incredibly simple. Desire—simple and straightforward. And overwhelming.

  Quite, quite overwhelming.

  He had not expected it. He knew that. Had not thought that it would happen—could happen. But it had and he was glad of it! Totally, incredibly glad! It made sense on every level.

  He let his gaze rest on her now. Georgy was snuggled on her lap as she spooned yoghurt into his gaping mouth, hungrily gulping it down, ready for more. Her features were soft, tender, as she smiled fondly at her charge.

  Well-being filled him.

  ‘How about,’ he suggested, ‘we take Georgy swimming this morning?’

  It proved an excellent idea. Excellent not just because it was so enjoyable to see the fun that Georgy had—his little body safely held in the water with water wings, bobbing merrily as he chuckled gleefully at all the splashing, fully enthusiastic about the exciting inflatable pool toys acquired especially for him—but also because it afforded Anatole the considerable pleasure of seeing Lyn in one of the several new bathing costumes he’d insisted on her buying. True, it was a one-piece, but it was quite sufficiently revealing for him to feel desire stir all over again.

  A desire that, when Georgy finally conceded defeat after lunch and succumbed to his nap, Anatole had no reason to defer any longer, and he swept Lyn off to bed.

  ‘We have to take ruthless advantage of Georgy’s sleep patterns,’ he justified, overcoming Lyn’s slight sense of shock at such diurnal amorousness.

  But as she journeyed with him to that wondrous place of union she could only agree.

  Anything that Anatole wanted was wonderful! Anything at all! She was ardent, adoring, her eyes lit with wonder and pleasure.

  I can’t think beyond this! It’s impossible—impossible! All I can do is go with what is happening.

  She was in a haze—a daze of happiness. And beyond each day, each night, she would not think.

  * * *

  Anatole walked out of his office to see Lyn sprawled on the floor with Georgy, who was on all fours, lurching forward in his newly developing crawl.

  ‘The lawyers have just phoned me,’ Anatole announced. He took a breath. ‘Georgy’s passport is being delivered by courier this morning. We fly to Athens tomorrow.’

  He came to Lyn, whose eyes had flown up to his, and hunkered down beside her. Her expression was mixed.

  ‘I know you are nervous,’ he said, taking her hand and pressing it reassuringly, ‘but once we are there you will find it less alarming, I promise you.’

  His eyes met hers, but even as they did so they slid past, down to Georgy, intently progressing towards the teddy bear that Lyn had deliberately left out of his reach, to encourage him to try and crawl towards it. Thoughts swirled opaquely in his head. Thoughts he did not want to put into words. Thoughts he banished with the words he always used to reassure her.

  ‘Trust me,’ he said. He leant forward and brushed her mouth with his lightly. ‘This is the right thing to do,’ he said, his voice low, intense. ‘It is the best way forward for Georgy—that is all you have to hold on to.’

  Yet doubt, unease, still flickered in her face. He kissed her again, more deeply, and felt her shimmer with response. When he took his mouth away the doubt had gone from her eyes, replaced by the glow that was always in them when he kissed her, made love to her...

  ‘That’s better.’ He smiled a warm, intimate smile and got to his feet. ‘Now, do not worry about packing,’ he instructed her. ‘The maid service here will do that—both for you and for Georgy. We’ll enjoy our last day here. Then, tomorrow, we’ll be off!’

  He headed from the room.

  ‘I’m going to phone Timon—tell him we’ll be there tomorrow and get an update from his doctors. They tell me the drugs are kicking in and starting to work, which is just the news I want.’

  Lyn watched him go, and as he went from view she felt again that jittery feeling of unease return. It was such a big, frightening step—to leave the UK, to go to a foreign country and put herself entirely into the hands of a man who, such a short time ago, had been a stranger to her.

 
But Anatole was no longer a stranger! He was the man she had committed herself to with all her body, all her desire. He had swept her away on a wonderful, magical tide of passion and forged an intimacy between them that made a nonsense of her fears, her doubts.

  Thanks to Anatole, everything would be for the best now.

  Everything will be all right! I know it will! There is nothing to be afraid of—nothing! I must do what he keeps telling me to do—trust him!

  And how could she fail to do so? How could she fail to trust him now that he had transformed her life? In his arms, his embrace, she had found a bliss that overwhelmed her with its wonder! There was no more awkwardness with him, no more shyness or diffidence.

  Now everything between them was different! Magically, wonderfully different! Since Anatole had swept her into his arms, into his bed, her head had been in a constant daze. It was still so unbelievable, what had happened between them! So unbelievable that she could not make sense of it—could do nothing but simply go with it...with every wondrous, shining moment of it! She would allow herself no doubts, no questions.

  * * *

  The flight to Athens proved straightforward. Georgy took a keen interest in the proceedings, especially all the admiring fuss that was made of him by the cabin staff, and apart from being affected by the change in cabin pressure on take-off and landing had a smooth journey. At Athens airport they were whisked through deplaning and into the chauffeured car waiting for them. Lyn barely had time to take in her new surroundings before the car was leaving the airport, heading for the coast.

  ‘It should take less than an hour, depending on traffic,’ Anatole assured her. ‘We’ll have plenty of time to settle into the beach house this afternoon. As you know,’ he went on, ‘we have the whole place to ourselves—and I think that will be good. Give you a chance to get used to everything. With Timon still in hospital for the moment, under medical supervision, we can have more time together. That said—’ he made a face ‘—I can’t deny that I’m going to have to spend a great deal of time working. Both at my own affairs, which I’ve neglected, and even more importantly on Timon’s business affairs.’