Page 10 of The Greek's Innocent Virgin

The fact that he'd had her things put in the room indicated his willingness to respect her right to choose if and when they began a physical relationship. She appreciated Sebastian not assuming she would sleep with him immediately. However, she knew that if she stayed in his apartment for any length of time, it would not be sleeping in the double size bed in the beautiful guest room.

Sebastian rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his desk chair.

It had been a long day, with one draining meeting after another. The Chinese business contacts that had shown up unexpectedly had required careful handling and a tremendous focus on what was being said in each of their get-togethers. It had taken nearly half of the day for him to discern their objective in coming and the rest of the day making sure they did not achieve something not in his company's best interest.

The thought of going home to his apartment and seeing Rachel was very tempting, but he forced him­self to go through his in-basket of personal corre­spondence before leaving. There were only a few let­ters, but some of them were over a week old.

He'd been gone for a lot longer than he'd originally planned when he'd flown to the island to take charge after his great-uncle's death. He'd taken care of business easily, but had told his secretary to hold off for­warding personal correspondence because he'd ex­pected to be back sooner and he'd never rescinded that order.

Why, even though he'd been gone longer than ex­pected?

Because he'd been focused on the confusing woman waiting in his apartment and he hadn't even thought of it.

He'd called her twice that afternoon, just like a lovesick boy. She'd responded like she was really happy to hear from him and was probably hearing wedding bells in her head.

He had no one to blame but himself. He shouldn't encourage her to think their relationship was out of the norm for him because he was not ready for mar­riage and emotional entanglement was right off his list of things to do for the next century.

He'd come much too close to going that direction once already to a woman a lot like Andrea Demakis, but he'd wised up in time and had paid in experience not alimony for his stupidity. He'd determined then not to let a woman get the upper hand in his life and his uncle's marriage had only reinforced that belief.

He didn't want to get married.

He sure as hell wasn't about to fall in love.

He picked up a letter that looked like it was ad­dressed in Matthias's hand. He must be more tired than he thought. The return address was smudged, but it...

No it couldn't be.

It was.

The letter had been written by his great-uncle be­fore his death, no doubt about it. The envelope was thick and Sebastian hesitated to open it. He didn't want to read something that would add to his ambiv­alent feelings about Rachel. He hated any sort of con­fusion and that seemed to be the vast majority of what he felt in relation to her.

But he was a man, not a spineless wimp, so he slit the envelope marked personal and pulled out the sev­eral page letter. A half an hour later, the pages of the letter in an untidy heap in front of him on the desk, he sat in stunned silence, trying to digest what he'd read.

His uncle had wised up to his younger wife, but too late.

Not only had Matthias acknowledged what a hor­rible mistake he'd made in marrying Andrea, but he had written that he was concerned that if his merce­nary wife thought she stood to gain by his death, he would not live very long. He had therefore changed his will to disinherit his wife completely.

The admission of such a mistake in judgment, not to mention the necessity of taking such action, would have been devastating to the old man's Greek pride and reading the words had made Sebastian physically ill.

Matthias had informed Andrea of the change in his will as well and his intention to divorce her. No won­der she'd gone so completely off the rails. She'd had nothing to lose anymore and a vindictive streak a mile wide. Realizing this, Matthias had written the letter to Sebastian so that in the event he did die before he got a divorce, his nephew would know that as far as he was concerned Andrea had no claim to the care given a widow within the family.

He stared down at the letter, the sick feeling in his stomach tightening into a knot of tension.

Had Andrea told her daughter their sugar daddy intended to evict them from his life? Had Rachel been angry, prepared to conspire with Andrea to get the biggest divorce settlement possible?

His teeth gritted as he rejected the thought.

Rachel was not anything like her mother. Hadn't she shown that to him in numerous ways already?

His rational mind reminded him that his uncle had been deceived by Andrea's false impression of inno­cence. Was Sebastian just as foolish in his dealing with a Long woman? Matthias had written that he'd married Andrea in order to protect her and had only later realized that far from being prey to the vagaries of life, Andrea had been predator through and through.

She'd convinced him that she'd had a traumatizing experience with a man and had played up to Matthias's protective instincts. It was only after the marriage that he'd realized far from being a victim, his wife was addicted to sex, not to mention alcohol and other substances that left her less than rational in her dealing with others.

But Rachel wasn't like that. She never drank. She didn't flirt and she didn't lie. She told the truth even when it embarrassed her. She wanted Sebastian, but she'd made no attempt to use sex to manipulate him.

She was perhaps one of the few totally honest women of his acquaintance.

Realizing that made him all the more eager to get home to her.

"What is that incredible smell?"

Rachel spun away from the stove where she had been adding the last minute spices to a pan of sim­mering curry chicken and landed smack against the immovable wall that was Sebastian.

His hands clamped on her arms before she could move away and his head lowered until his lips were almost touching hers. "Now this is the way a man likes to be greeted after a trying day."

Then his mouth finished its descent, slanting over hers with lazy affection. The scent of his expensive aftershave still clung to him from the morning, but it mixed with the smell of his skin to turn her bones to a jelly-like substance not intended to support her body in a vertical position.

Sagging against him, she clung to his shoulders, glad for his still firm grip on her arms. She had no defenses left against him and her body was making emphatic statements of desire in secret, tender places.

He must have had a glass of ouzo recently, she thought dizzily, the licorice flavor permeating her taste buds as his tongue penetrated her mouth. She loved his taste, his scent and the feel of his hard body against hers. Each of her senses was filled to over­flowing with his presence.

Time ceased to mean anything and firm, masculine lips molded her own in one drugging kiss after an­other. His hands moved from her arms to her back, pressing her already pliant body into his firmness.

Something buzzed in the background, but she couldn't think what it was and honestly didn't care.

However, Sebastian pulled his lips from hers, caus­ing her to moan in protest and try to catch his mouth again with hungry lips.

He kissed her once, firmly, and then set her away from him. "Something is done, I think."

"Wh-what?" She couldn't think of anything but him, didn't want to look anywhere but at his beloved face.

"Dinner, pethi mou." He turned her around to face the stove.

And her mind kicked into gear. The curry. She scrambled to turn off burners and pull the caramel flan she'd made for dessert from the oven. Nothing looked burned and she breathed out a sigh of relief.

"I told my housekeeper to inform you of my in­tention to eat out tonight."

Was that a criticism that she'd decided to cook?

She could not tell from his voice and was too busy removing the flan cups from the still simmering water to look at him. "You sounded tired the last time I spoke to you on the phone. I thought ea

ting in would be more relaxing."

"You did not have to cook."

She turned to face him, biting her lower lip. "I'm sorry if I've overstepped the mark."

His shook his head, his expression wry. "You did not overstep, but you have surprised me."

"Good. That was the whole idea." She smiled at him. "I hope you like curry."

"I love it."

She'd thought that might be the case when she'd found pretty much all the ingredients she needed al­ready stocked in the kitchen's large pantry.

He took a shower while she put the food on the table.

He joined her, wearing a pair of jeans and a ribbed cotton shirt and looking like an advertisement for Men's Fitness Magazine. It was all she could do not to drool.

"I've never had a woman cook for me before." He surveyed the serving dishes filled with rice, chicken curry and spicy grilled vegetables. "It is a novel ex­perience."

She started serving the food. "Good novel, or bad novel?''

"Definitely good. It makes me feel indulged." He reached out and touched her, his fingertips trailing down her arm, leaving shivery goose bumps behind. "I am usually the one doing the pampering."

She didn't like the reminder he had more pillow friends than silk ties, and it made her insecure.

She arranged the food on her plate with no desire to taste any of it and refused to meet his eyes. "I'm sure the other women in your life are far too sophis­ticated to enjoy a meal at home and an old movie on the television afterward."

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