Page 8 of The Greek's Innocent Virgin

She didn't want to.

Besides, he'd said he had feelings for her and for a guy like Sebastian, so proud and self-contained, that was a huge admission.

She took extra care with her makeup and hair, brushing it until it was like dark liquid silk and then pulling it into a classic French twist that added to the sophistication of her outfit.

As she stood outside the drawing room, she couldn't help remembering what a fool she'd felt ear­lier dressing up for him and then hearing him say he could never love her. Maybe dressing this way had been a mistake. She should go change. Right now, before he saw her.

He looked at her as she tensed, ready to leave, and there was no mistaking the blatant male appreciation in his eyes. Her fears melted under the heat of his appraisal. He motioned to her to come to him and she started walking as if led by an invisible string.

When she reached him, he leaned down and kissed both her cheeks, his hands warm on her bare shoul­ders. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you."

He looked pretty darn gorgeous himself in a dark suit, tailored to fit his muscular structure to a T. He wore a tie, something he rarely did to dinner at home with the family and she realized he'd dressed up for her as well.

She smiled.

He got her a drink and then Eugenie called them into dinner. They spent the meal talking, their dis­cussion surprisingly easy and diverse.

"So, why do you work as an accountant?"

"Why not be an accountant?" she quipped, sipping from her wineglass, feeling more relaxed with him than she ever had.

"You used to paint."

"I still do."

"So, why not work in a job that calls on your cre­ativity?' '

"I like my job. It's not too demanding and the environment is peaceful."

"Would not an artist's studio be just as peaceful?"

"I'm not that good. Besides, it's almost impossible to make a living as an artist." And she'd realized early on that she needed a steady source of income if she was going to make a life different and separate from her mother's.

"Matthias would have supported you."

She physically shuddered at the thought. The cost would have been much too high. Living with Andrea. "I didn't want to be supported. I wanted to make my own way."

"That is commendable." There was something in his tone she didn't quite get.

"Thank you. I really do like my job though. Numbers are reliable and they don't throw temper tantrums."

"Do you?"

"There's only room for one drama queen in a fam­ily. Andrea was ours. I'm pretty even tempered."

He looked at her, as if assessing things about her she did not even know about herself. "I wonder."

"Have you ever seen me have a fit?" she de­manded, a little irritated he would question her as­sessment of herself.

Their argument earlier did not count. It had been mutual, not a diva temper tantrum and she had been blatantly provoked.

"No, but I had never seen you react with passion before the other night on the beach either."

"It's not the same."

He shrugged as if the subject did not matter to him. "Perhaps not."

But a little later, the conversation came back to her job.

“You cannot meet many men working for a woman's fitness center?" he asked.

"No." And she liked it that way.

"I am glad."

"Why is that?'"

"I am a possessive man."

"But I don't belong to you."

"Don't you?"

Honesty in this instance, even with herself, would cost too much. The thought of belonging to a man who would never belong to her was hardly confidence building, so she ignored the question. "How long are you staying on the island?"

"For a few more days only. I must get back to Athens."

"Your company is suffering?"

“I employ proficient management and I am not un­connected here. I continue to work remotely, but to do so indefinitely would be bad business."

"Why are you staying?" She doubted he was see­ing to the disposal of his great-uncles clothing per­sonally.

"You cannot guess?"

"It's that whole Greek hospitality thing I guess." After all, his mother had been staying until that morn­ing and then there was Rachel.

"I had more reason than a need to play good host."

"You didn't want Andrea's daughter to make off with the silver in your absence?"

He didn't laugh as she expected him to, but shook his head, his expression pretty grim.

"Then why?"

"You are here. I find I cannot help wanting to be here as well." He didn't look very happy about the fact, but even so, his words touched her deeply.

"It's a compulsion." And she was glad she wasn't the only one affected by it.

He frowned, but his eyes made her insides shiver. "Yes. It is."

After dinner, he led her out onto the terrace where the soft, bluesy music from the stereo filled the sultry air.

He tugged her into his arms. "Dance with me."

She hadn't danced with him, or anyone else since her eighteenth birthday, but he wasn't asking her to waltz a complicated step around the terrace. His hands were linked loosely just above her tailbone and he was swaying slowly to the sensual beat.

Letting her hands slide up inside his suit jacket to rest against his chest, she relaxed into full body con­tact. Her conscious mind which told her such a move was unwise could not maintain sway against instincts clamoring for supremacy. It felt so good to be held by him and unreal. It was the sense of unreality that made it all seem so safe.

Logic said that Sebastian Kouros could have any woman he wanted. He was gorgeous. He was sexy. And he was probably five times as wealthy as his great-uncle had been. The perfect catch, he would never let himself get overly involved with Rachel, no matter how strong the compulsion he felt to be with her. He was too cautious.

And she was Andrea Demakis's daughter.

One song segued into another, their bodies in com­plete accord and her nerve endings sizzled with slow burning pleasure. He was affected as well. The evidence pressed against her stomach while his hands sank lower and lower until they were cupping her bottom with gentle intensity.

Their dancing, if you could call it that, reduced to nothing more than a slow movement from side to side as feminine and masculine flesh brushed profoundly against each other. Her cheek rested against his chest and she could hear the steady, strong beat of his heart. She rubbed her face up and down, enjoying the smooth, rich fabric of his shirt, loving the springy hair behind it.

She was in a state of dazed enchantment when he unexpectedly set her away from him, his expression rueful. "If I do not send you to bed, I will end up joining you."

She swayed, wanting him to do just that.

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