Page 3 of The Greek's Innocent Virgin

It was her body.

Being around Sebastian always did this to her, made her aware of her femininity in a way she man­aged to ignore the rest of the time. After what had happened to her when she was sixteen, that wasn't hard, but somehow the powerful tycoon undermined defenses that were rock-solid around other men.

And he didn't even try.

Sebastian Kouros had no interest in her, had never once intimated that he was aware of her as anything other than his beloved great-uncle's stepdaughter.

But that didn't stop her hormones from raging, or her heart from tying itself in knots over him.

"What are you doing out here, pethi mou?"

Spinning around at the sound of his voice, her heart climbed right up into her throat. She staggered back­ward away from that all too close masculine body, her feet hitting wet sand and then water. "Sebastian!"

His hands shot out and grabbed her shoulders, stop­ping her from an ignominious landing in the shallow water. "You did not know I was here?"

She shook her head dumbly.

He pulled her forward until her feet were once again on dry land, but he did not move, leaving her way too close to him. "I made no attempt to disguise my approach."

"I w-was thinking." She stumbled over her words, her brain processing the new sensory input from his arrival.

His fingers were warm and solid through the silk-thin cotton of her sleeves and his scent, spicy and overwhelmingly male, dominated her senses. The full moon supplied sufficient light for his formfitting, black T-shirt to reveal every defined abdomen and well-developed chest muscle. While his light colored sports shorts drew attention to legs that would have looked more appropriate on a long-distance runner than a corporate executive. His feet were bare like hers and their toes were scant inches apart.

For some reason that seemed very intimate.

CHAPTER TWO

"You must have been thinking about something very absorbing if your thoughts were so deep they pre­vented you from hearing my footsteps."

How ironic that thoughts of the man had prevented her from preparing herself mentally to meet up with him. "Yes."

"Why are you not sleeping?"

Did he realize he was still holding on to her? She tried shrugging to see if the movement would remind him to release her and step back. "I couldn't."

He ignored her silent bid for freedom, probably hadn't even noticed it. "Your mother died less than a week ago. It is understandable, this lack of rest."

"I suppose," she replied, content to let him draw his own conclusions.

She had enough to deal with not moving those re­maining inches and snuggling into the warmth and safety his tall body offered. She wanted him physi­cally and that in itself was shocking enough, but she wanted something else from him, something she'd learned long ago was not on offer in her life. Love. Commitment. Security.

"I understand. My uncle's death has caused much grief in my family."

That was probably as close as Sebastian would come to admitting his own weakness and the fact he was no doubt awake because of his own undiluted grief. Any feelings of sadness she had at the death of her mother were weakened by relief that the emo­tional pain of living in the shadow of her misdeeds was over.

She licked her lips, trying to maintain her concen­tration when his nearness was wreaking havoc with her ability to focus on what was being said. ''Matthias was a good man."

Sebastian's hands dropped away from her shoul­ders finally, but he remained too close to ease her awkwardness. "He was, but I should not have dis­missed your own grieving."

"What do you mean?" She had not expressed any real grief, so how could he have dismissed it?

She wasn't even sure if she was capable of mourn­ing her mother's death.

"I was not kind to you this afternoon and I am sorry." The words came out stilted, not at all like his usual smooth conversation.

He probably apologized about as often as she dated, which was never.

"It's no big deal. Don't worry about it."

"I hurt you and I should not have added to your pain in that way."

Oh, man, when he got going on the remorse thing, he took it seriously. And it made her feel guilty be­cause while he'd hurt her it had not been in addition to the pain of loss, but to the pain of a lifetime lived as Andrea's daughter.

"Thank you for your concern, but honestly, I'm used to comments like that."

The sound he made said her words had not soothed him.

She sighed, unable to stifle the urge to reach out, to touch in an age-old gesture of comfort. Her fingers settled gently against his hair roughened arm and it was all she could do to remember what she was going to say. Oh, yeah...

"I'm not angry with you." Not anymore. "Matthias was a kind and caring man. I'm sorry he died the way he did. I'm sorry my mother's life ended the way it did, but I don't blame you for pointing out the truth. I am her daughter and I've learned to live with that."

An indecipherable expression settled over his an­gular features. "Earlier, I was worried you might take your story to the tabloids, but I realize now you would not do so."

Chills of horror skated along her nerve endings. ' 'Never.''

"Andrea courted publicity of the worst kind."

"And I had to live with it all my life."

"You did not like it."

"I hated it. As a child, I got teased and was ex­pelled from two different private schools because of her behavior." Andrea had been caught having sex with one of Rachel's teachers by the man's wife and the second time, she'd been arrested for cocaine pos­session. "It wasn't much better at university. The world seems like such a big place until you're the one in the middle of ugly media attention."

And by then, her mother had married a rich Greek tycoon old enough to be her father. It was the stuff of fantasy for would-be journalists making their name in the tabloid press.

Which was why Rachel had legally changed her last name upon graduation. She'd never told Andrea, not wanting a big scene, but no one in Rachel's cur­rent life knew that she was related to a woman notorious for her sexual exploits and questionable social activities.

In the United States, the story of Rachel Long, daughter of Andrea Long Demakis, simply did not exist.

Being shy and rather average looking had its ad­vantages.

She realized this time it was she who continued to hold on to him and quickly pulled her hand away. "Sorry."

"I do not mind."

She swallowed. "Yes, well, I should get back. I'm sure I can sleep now," she said, lying through her teeth, but needing to get away from his unnerving presence.

His hands caught her waist, halting her body and her breathing all in one go. "Are you sure?"

"I..." She choked trying to get air into her lungs and he pulled her closer, soothing her back, his ex­pression too heated to be labeled concern.

She started to breathe again, but still couldn't speak. His silver gaze was doing things to her insides she'd long since convinced herself was the stuff of fantasy. Shivery sensations traveled along nerve end­ings she didn't even know she had and a heavy, ach­ing sensation in her womb radiated downward to make her thighs clench.

Firm, masculine lips tilted in a knowing smile and she was sure he knew just what was happening to her.

He never broke eye contact as he drew her near until their bodies barely touched and she could not help the involuntary shudder that went thr

ough her at contact.

His eyes filled with primal male triumph. "Yes. I knew you felt it too."

"Felt what?" she asked, knowing her attempt at prevarication was hopeless.

He ignored it completely.

"I need to know." His head lowered until his lips were a breath from hers.

"Don't you wonder too?"

She would have asked, "Wonder what?", but his mouth closed over hers.

And she stopped thinking.

All she could do was feel.

It was entirely alien, this merging of their mouths, the mingling of their breath, the gentle seduction of knowing lips. She had not known men like him, with so much power and masculine strength, could be gen­tle.

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