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“You should eat.”

She looked at him with obvious surprise, and then, amusement.

“Is that an order?”

“What would you do if I said yes?”

A frisson of something travelled the length of his spine as he imagined, for a moment, before he could stop himself, what it would be like to order this woman to do anything. Christos. What was happening to him? Was it just the fact he’d switched off the physical side of his personality after losing Laura, knowing he needed to focus purely on Ellie while she got through this? That had been his intention. No time for relationships or flings or whatever while he was putting back the pieces of a young girl’s broken heart. Ellie had to be his focus. He knew that to be true. But somehow, having Chloe in his home was derailing that determination completely—and that was not something with which Dimitrios was familiar. Ordinarily, when he set his mind to something, that was the end of it.

“I think you’re probably used to giving orders,” she said, tilting her head slightly to the side in a way that shouldn’t have been as sexy as he was finding it.

The air between them seemed to spark with something electric. “And having them obeyed.”

Her brow arched. “So it would annoy you if I said ‘no’?”

“Yes.”

The electricity throbbed, threatened to spark through him in a way that was dangerous. He stood his ground, so the fact they were suddenly toe to toe must have been because she’d moved towards him. He crossed his arms, as if he needed that last, final physical protection from reaching out and grabbing her, dragging her the rest of the way so her body crushed to his.

“Why do I feel like annoying you would be kind of fun?” she asked. And though there was a smile on her perfect, pink lips, there was a look of confusion in her eyes.

“You like playing with fire?”

“That’s not it,” she said, shaking her head slightly, so the vanilla scent was stronger, more addictive. His gut twisted hard, and his fingertips tingled with a need to reach out for her. “I’m usually conflict-averse.”

“I don’t think it’s conflict you’re looking for.”

“No?” But the huskiness in her voice told him they were on the same page. She knew what she wanted—and what he needed.

His brows knit together as he stared down at her, mentally counting to ten, willing himself to remember where his life was at, and why this was a really stupid idea.

“I just got out of a relationship,” she blurted instead, the words a confession and a plea. “It was messy and awful and I’m not looking for anything. You should know that.”

It didn’t even occur to him to play dumb, like he wasn’t about to kiss her. “Nor am I. Eleanor is my whole world right now.”

Her eyes probed his, her lips parting on a soft sigh. “Why can’t I stop thinking about you?”

It caught him off guard. He wasn’t used to women being so open, so trusting, and he loved it. He finally gave in to his body’s needs, unfolding his arms and pressing his hands to her hips, heat sparking from his palms to his chest, radiating outward. “I don’t know, but I have the same problem.”

And then he dropped his head and claimed her mouth, kissing her as though it was the one thing he’d been designed for.

CHAPTER 3

IT WAS ONLY MEANT to be a kiss. A simple brushing of his lips to hers, to break the tension that was tightening inside his body, making each and every cell reverberate and pull against the confines of its existence. But the moment they connected, all control was lost, sanity a distant dot in the rearview mirror.

It was her moan that did it. A soft, husky sound from deep in her throat, right into his mouth, so he swallowed it and was utterly undone. His tongue tangled with hers, teasing it, and her body folded forward, leaving not an inch of space as she molded to him completely and he held her there, fingers digging into her hips as if to hold on for dear life.

“Chloe,” he heard himself say. As a warning? A plea? A need to understand?

Another moan from her and he was lost. The fingers at her hips shifted lower, to find the hem of her sweater, lifting it just enough to touch bare skin and then he let out his own groan at the warmth and softness there, the way she pushed harder against him, kissing him back now with the same fervor he felt.

Somewhere, in the very, very distant recesses of his brain, he knew he should lift his head, put a stop to this, but then her hands were lifting and wrapping around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair, and instinct took over completely. Hands that had been content to touch and feel were suddenly moving lower to cup her ass, lifting her easily—made all the more so by the way she wrapped her legs around him, completely complicit in this madness. He strode with ease towards the large sofa, placing her down on it then following, his body pressed to hers, barely breaking the kiss. In fact, it grew more urgent, more desperate, as her hands now roamed his body, dragging his shirt from his jeans, running up over his chest, gripping his bare shoulders beneath the fabric as she pushed her hips up in a silent, ancient invitation that he completely understood.

“Christos,” he muttered desperately as her hands emerged from his shirt to find the button of his jeans, pushing at them hungrily, urgently. As though there was a fire at her back. Like she needed this—needed it in a way that was different to him? I just got out of a relationship.

A part of him that was still capable of common sense sparked. “Are you sure about this?”

“God, yes,” she said, pushing at his jeans so his legs did the rest of the work, toeing out of them so he wore only his boxer briefs. “I need this. I need…you,” she admitted, eyes huge when they met his, and a hint of a frown flickered over her face. “I don’t…get it.”