by Maya Banks
Two days later, they were married. Theron and Piers both attended, and Patrice was the only other witness to the ceremony. Afterward, Piers gave her a somewhat reserved welcome to the family while Theron’s was more warm and enthusiastic.
“You’ve made him very happy, little sister,” Theron murmured as he gathered her in his arms for a hug.
She offered a small smile, but she knew Theron wasn’t fooled by it.
Soon after, Piers and Theron left, Theron to return to London and Piers to fly to Rio de Janeiro to oversee plans for the new hotel. Patrice returned to Athens, where she’d be met by Dr. Karounis. While Chrysander wanted to wait a day for their own departure, Marley was adamant that they leave as soon as the ceremony was done. She wanted to return to the island, a place she’d been happy even if only for a short time. New York held too many unhappy memories, and she just wanted to be away.
Chrysander bundled her on the plane and insisted she sleep for the duration of the flight. It was late when they landed and later still by the time the helicopter touched down on the island. But Marley felt relieved that she was home.
Chrysander carried her into the house and didn’t relinquish her until they were upstairs in the bedroom. He set her down on the bed and then busied himself undressing her and tucking her underneath the covers.
When he crawled in beside her and merely held her lightly against him, as though he was afraid of touching her, she frowned in the darkness. She rose up and reached across him to turn on the light he’d extinguished a moment earlier.
“Marley, what is wrong?” he asked as she stared down at him.
She studied him, the lines around his mouth, the worry in his eyes. In that moment, she understood. He was afraid.
“Make love to me,” she whispered.
His eyes darkened and turned to liquid. A ragged breath tore from his mouth.
“I need you to make love to me.”
“You have to be sure about this, agape mou. I don’t want to pressure you into doing anything you aren’t ready for.”
“I’m sure.”
With a tortured groan, he rolled her beneath him. Every kiss, every touch was so exquisitely tender. He touched and stroked her with infinite care.
Her gown was removed, and he slid out of his boxers. His body, hot and straining, covered hers. Pleasure streaked through her body in waves when he closed his mouth over her nipple. He sucked lightly, tonguing the small bud, then he turned his attention to her other breast.
His hand cupped her belly protectively, cradling her against him as he kissed his way up her neck and finally to her lips.
“S’agapo, pedhaki mou. S’agapo,” he murmured in a voice so husky, so emotional, that it brought tears to her eyes.
She cried out as he moved over her. “Please,” she begged. “I need you.”
He entered her slowly, his movements careful and measured. But she didn’t want him to treat her so carefully. She wanted all of him. She arched into him and wrapped her legs around his hips.
Sobs of need, of pleasure, ripped from her throat, and for once, pain had diminished to a distant memory. There was only here and now and the man who loved her.
She raced up a mountain slope and hurtled into a free fall of ecstasy. Chrysander was there to catch her, gathering her close against him as he murmured words of love against her lips.
She snuggled into his embrace, melding herself as close to him as she could. She needed this. Needed him.
“Don’t let me go,” she whispered.
“Never, agape mou,” he vowed. He stroked her hair, her back, the swollen mound of her belly as she drifted off to sleep. The last thing she was aware of was him telling her he loved her.
* * *
Marley slipped out of bed and pulled on her robe to cover her nakedness. Chrysander was still firmly asleep, his arm stretched out as though reaching for her.
He’d made love to her throughout the night, the two of them falling into an exhausted sleep just before dawn. Her body still tingled from his touch, his lips, his gentle caresses. As she stared at him, she knew that she couldn’t hold off any longer. She couldn’t torture them both. Her uncertainty was gone. Her fears would follow in time.
She padded down the stairs, smiling ruefully at the thought of how Chrysander would fuss that she hadn’t waited for him. After a stop in the kitchen, where she nibbled at a bagel and drank a glass of juice, she ventured into the living room to enjoy the view of the ocean.
It was there that Chrysander found her. He slid his arms around her, cupping her belly with his hands as he kissed the curve of her neck.
“You’re up early, agape mou.”
“I was thinking,” she murmured. She swiveled in his arms and met his worried gaze.
They both stared for a long moment, and then finally Chrysander said in a hoarse voice, “Do I ever have a chance of you loving me, Marley? Have I ruined that chance forever?”
Her gaze softened, and her heart turned over again with the love that swelled within her. Love and forgiveness.
“I already do,” she said softly.
Surprise flickered across his face, and then doubt crept in.
“I’ve always loved you, Chrysander. From the moment I met you there has never been another man for me. There never will be.”
“You love me?” he said in wonder, hope flaring in his eyes.
“I couldn’t tell you before,” she explained. “Not in New York when things were so messed up. You wouldn’t have believed it if I had said it on the heels of your declaration. I wanted to return here, where we were happy. I wanted our life to begin here.”
He gathered her in his arms and held her against his trembling body. His voice shook with emotion as he murmured to her in Greek. He switched back and forth between Greek and English as he told her how much he loved her and how sorry he was for the pain he’d caused her.
Then he swept her in his arms and carried her up the stairs and back to their bed, where he made sweet, passionate love to her again. Later he tucked her against his body and stroked a hand through her hair.
“I love you so much, yineka mou. I don’t deserve your love, but I am so very grateful for it. I’ll spend the rest of my life cherishing it, I swear.”
She hugged him to her. “I love you, too, Chrysander. So much. We’ll be so happy together. I’ll make you happy.”
And she did.
Chapter 17
Ironically enough, Marley discovered she was in labor halfway down the stairs. Alone. She gripped the banister and doubled over as a contraction rippled across her abdomen. Wasn’t labor supposed to start out slow?
She wanted to laugh at the fact that fate was obviously cursing her for trying to sneak down the stairs without Chrysander knowing. While he’d relented about her taking the stairs in the earlier stages of her pregnancy, now that she was so close to her due date he’d once again insisted she not walk the stairs alone. He’d go insane now that she was nine months pregnant and, if the pain ripping out her insides was any clue, about to deliver.
She stood on the step, holding on to the railing and taking deep breaths. She’d have called out if she weren’t so busy sucking air through her nose. Besides, Chrysander was busy with endless calls as he and Theron worked out Theron’s relocation to the New York offices. Theron was taking over operations there so Chrysander could remain in Europe. They had been tied up for hours discussing security measures since her kidnappe
rs were still at large.
When she heard footsteps above her, she straightened and tried her best to look as though nothing was wrong. She glanced guiltily up to see Chrysander standing at the top of the stairs, a disapproving expression marring his face.
He started down, grumbling in Greek all the way. “What am I to do with you, agape mou?” he asked when he got close.
“Take me to the hospital?” she asked weakly. She doubled over again as another contraction hit.
“Marley! Pedhaki mou, are you in labor?” He didn’t even wait for a response, not that he needed one. He scooped her into his arms and hurtled down the stairs, shouting for the helicopter pilot, who had remained on the island for the last two weeks for just such an event.
“Do not worry, my darling,” he said in uncharacteristic English. “We’ll have you to the hospital in no time.”
“Darling?” She laughed and then ended it in a moan. “It hurts, Chrysander.”
He paled as he climbed into the helicopter with her.
“You aren’t allowed to use English endearments,” she panted. “Greek sounds so much sexier.”
“Pedhaki mou, yineka mou, agape mou,” he whispered in her ear. My little one, my woman, my love.
“Much better,” she sighed. She smiled then winced again as they lifted into the air. Chrysander was a basket case the entire way to the hospital. The pilot set down on the roof, and a medical team was waiting to usher her inside.
A mere hour later, with Chrysander hovering and holding her hand, Dimitri Anetakis squirmed his way into the world to the delight of his father and mother.
“He is beautiful, agape mou,” Chrysander murmured as he leaned in close to mother and child. Dimitri was nursing contentedly at Marley’s breast, and Chrysander watched in fascination.
“He’s perfect,” she said in wonder. “Oh, Chrysander, everything’s so perfect.”
He kissed her tenderly, his love for her overflowing his heart. “S’agapo, yineka mou.”
She cupped his face and smiled up at him. “S’agapo, Chrysander. Always.”
* * * * *
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Carol Marinelli
Wanted:
Mistress and Mother
Dear Reader,
The idea for this story came at the end of a family holiday to the U.S. I was supposed to not be writing, or even thinking about writing. We had had a wonderful time in Florida and later New York, and right at the end of the trip, I had been invited to stay at a friend’s. I was lying in her garden, listening to the sound of summer and inhaling the scents and just really enjoying the peace and tranquillity of a summer garden when the idea for this story came to me.
My heroine, Matilda, fully understood the healing and peace a garden can bring, whereas my hero, Dante, was determined to carry on with his busy schedule and alpha ways. The attraction between these two opposites was undeniable and I loved the strength in Matilda, who refused to comply with Dante’s emotionally closed rules.
Happy reading,
Carol
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Inappropriate.
It was the first word that sprang to mind as dark, clearly irritated eyes swung round to face her, black eyes that stared down at Matilda, scrutinising her face unashamedly, making her acutely aware of her—for once—expertly made-up face. The vivid pink lipstick the beautician had insisted on to add a splash of colour to her newly straightened ash blonde hair and porcelain complexion seemed to suddenly render her mouth immovable, as, rather than slowing down to assist, the man she had asked for directions had instead, after a brief angry glance, picked up speed and carried on walking.
Inappropriate, because generally when you stopped someone to ask for directions, especially in a hospital, you expected to be greeted with a courteous nod or smile, for the person to actually slow down, instead of striding ahead and glaring back at you with an angry question of their own.
“Where?”
Even though he uttered just a single word, the thick, clipped accent told Matilda that English wasn’t this man’s first language. Matilda’s annoyance at this response was doused a touch. Perhaps he was in the hospital to visit a sick relative, had just flown in to Australia from... In that split second her mind worked rapidly, trying to place him—his appearance was Mediterranean, Spanish or Greek perhaps, or maybe...
“Where is it you want to go?” he barked, finally deigning to slow down a fraction, the few extra words allowing Matilda to place his strong accent—he was Italian!
“I wanted to know how to find the function room,” she said slowly, repeating the question she had already asked, berating her luck that the only person walking through the maze of the hospital administration corridors spoke little English. That the tall, imposing man she had had to resort to for directions was blatantly annoyed at the intrusion. “I’m trying to get there for the opening of the hospital garden. I’m supposed to be there in...” She glanced down at her watch and let out a sigh of exasperation. “Actually, I was supposed to be there five minutes ago.”
“Merda!” As he glanced at his watch the curse that escaped his lips, though in Italian, wasn’t, Matilda assumed, particularly complimentary, and abruptly stepping back she gave a wide-eyed look, before turning smartly on her heel and heading off to find her own way. He’d made it exceptionally clear that her request for assistance had been intrusive but now he was being downright rude. She certainly wasn’t going to stand around and wait for the translation—she’d find the blessed function room on her own!
“I’m sorry.” He caught up with her in two long strides, but Matilda marched on, this angry package of testosterone the very last thing she needed this morning.
“No, I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” Matilda called back over her shoulder, pushing the button—any button—on the lift and hoping to get the hell out of there. “You’re clearly busy.”
“I was cursing myself, not you.” He gave a tiny grimace, shrugged very wide shoulders in apology, which sweetened the explanation somewhat, and Matilda made a mental correction. His English was, in fact, excellent. It was just his accent that was incredibly strong—deep and heavy, and, Matilda reluctantly noted, incredibly sensual. “I too am supposed to be at the garden opening, I completely forgot that they’d moved the time forward. My admin assistant has decided to take maternity leave.”
“How inconsiderate of her!” Matilda murmured under her breath, before stepping inside as the lift slid open.
“Pardon?”
Beating back a blush, Matilda stared fixedly ahead, unfortunately having to wait for him to press the button, as she was still none the wiser as to where the function room was.
“I didn’t quite catch what you said,” he persisted.
“I didn’t say anything,” Matilda lied, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her, or, at the very least, the blessed lift would get moving. There was something daunting about him, something incredibly confronting about his manne
r, his voice, his eyes, something very inappropriate.
There was that word again, only this time it had nothing to do with his earlier rude response and everything to do with Matilda’s as she watched dark, olive-skinned hands punching in the floor number, revealing a flash of an undoubtedly expensive gold watch under heavy white cotton shirt cuffs. The scent of his bitter, tangy aftershave was wafting over towards her in the confined space and stinging into her nostrils as she reluctantly dragged in his supremely male scent. Stealing a sideways glance, for the first time Matilda looked at him properly and pieced together the features she had so far only glimpsed.
He was astonishingly good-looking.
The internal admission jolted her—since her break-up with Edward she hadn’t so much as looked at a man—certainly she hadn’t looked at a man in that way. The day she’d ended their relationship, like bandit screens shooting up at the bank counter, it had been as if her hormones had been switched off. Well, perhaps not off, but even simmering would be an exaggeration—the hormonal pot had been moved to the edge of the tiniest gas ring and was being kept in a state of tepid indifference: utterly jaded and completely immune.
Till now!
Never had she seen someone so exquisitely beautiful close up. It was as if some skilled photographer had taken his magic wand and airbrushed the man from the tip of his ebony hair right down to the soft leather of his expensively shod toes. He seemed vaguely familiar—and she tried over and over to place that swarthy, good-looking face, sure that she must have seen him on the TV screen because, if she’d witnessed him in the flesh, Matilda knew she would have remembered the occasion.
God, it was hot.
Fiddling with the neckline of her blouse, Matilda dragged her eyes away and willed the lift to move faster, only realising she’d been holding her breath when thankfully the doors slid open and she released it in a grateful sigh, as in a surprisingly gentlemanly move he stepped aside, gesturing for her to go first. But Matilda wished he’d been as rude on the fourth floor as he had been on the ground, wished, as she teetered along the carpeted floor of the administration wing in unfamiliar high heels, that she was walking behind instead of ahead of this menacing stranger, positive, absolutely positive that those black eyes were assessing her from a male perspective, excruciatingly aware of his eyes burning into her shoulders. She could almost feel the heat emanating from them as they dragged lower down to the rather too short second half of her smart, terribly new charcoal suit. And if legs could have blushed, then Matilda’s were glowing as she felt his burning gaze on calves that were encased in the sheerest of stockings.