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In a hollow beyond a sweeping stone terrace lay the immense oval pool, surrounded by slender cypress trees, blue water lazy, limpid, inviting.
The gentle breeze caressed her exposed skin, carrying the scents of sea, dried grasses and aromatic herbs. Dropping the fluffy jade-green towel she’d brought with her onto the cool marble surround, Maddie took a deep breath and dived in at the deep end, determined to forget her situation and the shameful fact that she’d been too stupid to smell a rat when the super-eligible Dimitri Kouvaris, charismatic and absolutely gorgeous, and a millionaire many times over, had proposed marriage to an insignificant grubber-around-in-the-soil-nobody like her, after such a remarkably short acquaintance.
She would relax, do a few gentle lengths, empty her mind to everything but the perfection of the early evening, the soft caress of the water, and find tranquility—because bad thoughts and a brain that was in knots couldn’t be good for the baby inside her.
And she was doing just fine in that respect when a splash at the opposite end of the pool, the deep end, had her feet finding the bottom in a flurry, her eyes widening, sparking blue fire, as Dimitri scythed through the water towards her in a powerful crawl.
Did he have to spoil everything? Even her relaxing half hour in the swimming pool—not to mention her whole life!
With water lapping her waist she was too stricken to move until he got close. Then, galvanised, she hauled herself out of the pool in a shower of water droplets and headed like a bullet to where she’d left the towel.
But he was there before her, blocking her way. Thankfully, she was able to keep her instinctive groan internal as his honeyed drawl sent shivers right down to her toes. She wanted to drag her eyes from him but couldn’t as he said, ‘Slow down! Honeymoons on secluded Greek islands are meant to be slow and lazy. Relaxed. I will help you to learn that much.’
Her toes curled in reaction to his nearness, to the bronzed body glistening with moisture, tempting her to touch and go on touching, to slide her hands over the muscular strength of his chest, the skin like oiled silk and just as sensuous. Her fingers would glide lower, over the washboard-flat stomach, to the top of the black briefs that did nothing at all to modestly disguise his manhood—
Smartly clasping her hands behind her back to stop them straying of their own volition, she countered on a rasp
of breath, and with no pretence of the rapprochement he’d earlier suggested, ‘I was perfectly relaxed until you showed up!’
She bent to retrieve the towel and cover herself up, because he was no one’s fool and would have no trouble working out why her wretched breasts were pushing at the clinging fabric of her swimsuit as if hedonistically eager for the touch of his hands, his mouth.
But he stayed her before she could reach her objective, strong, finely made hands on her shoulders as he brought her upright, moving in closer as he reminded her grittily, ‘I am not your enemy. I am your husband. And I want you so much it hurts.’
Shaken by that admission, she allowed her eyes to meet his. His hands on her naked shoulders sent electrifying shivers down her spine. His eyes were hot gold, burning into her where they touched—her shamefully peaking breasts, the quivering curve of her tummy, and lower, making her shift her feet, part her thighs with blatant invitation and no conscious thought whatsoever.
She jerked in a ragged breath as his hands slid slowly down from her shoulders to fasten around her slender waist and pull her with aching deliberation against him. He hadn’t been lying, was her almost incoherent thought. The state of his arousal left her in no doubt as to the truth of his gritty statement.
Unable to decide what she was thinking, she felt terrifyingly vulnerable, torn between the conflicting need to distance herself from him in every way there was and wanting her charismatic, once-adored husband just as much as she ever had.
The deed was done. She was pregnant. So why should he still want her sexually? She had expected a spurious kindness—not for her sake, but for his child’s. But this? ‘We are not enemies. What we once had was beautiful. We can and will reclaim it,’ Dimitri reiterated rawly. ‘Between us we have made a baby, have created a new life. The future can be golden, chrysi mou, if you will let it be. You still want me—as I need you—I am ready and willing to forget the immediate past, and I hope you are, too.’
A gentle hand slid up behind her head, long fingers slipping through her bright hair, lifting her face, her mouth, to the seductive invasion of a kiss that proved his point—because she could not resist the hunger of his lips, the tongue that dipped, teased and tormented until she was writhing against him, heart hammering, veins running with liquid fire.
Everything inside her quivered as with one fluid movement he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bedroom, his mouth unceasing in its ravishment of hers until he laid her on the bed and came down beside her, divesting them both of damp garments in the time it took to draw breath.
She had expected immediate consummation, indeed her body craved it, but he whispered, ‘Slowly, my sweet, slowly,’ which she translated as Gently, for our baby’s sake. But then she didn’t care, because the wicked expertise of his sensual mouth, his knowing hands, as he brought every inch of her restlessly writhing body to a wild crescendo of excitement drove everything else out of her mind until at last, responding to her moans of ‘Please—Dimitri, please!’ he sank between her thighs and with one long thrust instigated an unstoppable storm of white-hot passion that spiralled until control splintered and was lost in the primitive rhythm that swept her up and beyond the very pinnacle of ecstasy.
Held in his arms, his fantastic body melded to the yielding softness of hers, Maddie floated gently back to earth, loving the way he dropped tiny kisses on her damp forehead, the tip of her small nose, the corner of her mouth, revelling in sweet satiation until, at the unmistakable hardening of his body, he released her with a shaky laugh, a reluctant, ‘I am too greedy for you! I hadn’t meant this to happen.
But you, alone among women, are too much temptation for me!’
He sprang off the bed, telling her after a rapid glance at the watch that adorned his flat wrist, ‘Xanthe will arrive at any moment with the evening meal she has prepared.’ Slanting her a smile he promised, his stunning eyes filled with dancing golden lights, ‘I will be patient until after we have eaten,’ and strode to the bathroom where, above the sound of the shower, she could hear him singing in the tuneful baritone she had once delighted to hear.
Pleased with himself, she thought sourly, as bleak despair again settled around her, a too-regular visitor, and as demeaning as it was unwelcome. So he had a highly over-active libido. He could have sex with her while loving another woman. No problem when his eager wife was so obviously more than willing to participate.
And as for her—well, she was deeply ashamed of herself. Telling herself that sexual desire—lust, if you like—had the habit of taking over, crippling the mind, filling the body and heating the blood to boiling point, did nothing to excuse what she had done.
Her body aching from his intimate possession, she waited, scrambling a sheet around her nakedness. At one time nothing would have prevented her from joining him in the shower, delighting in the welcome she knew he would give her as they teased each other with soap-slicked, deliciously tormenting hands, laughter dissolving into the ecstasy of out-of-this-world passion.
Now, nothing would make her join him in there. And so she waited, subduing the sob of self-loathing that was burning her lungs, compressing her lips to stop her soft, kiss-swollen mouth from trembling, until he emerged from the en suite bathroom, towel-drying his thick dark hair, his smile something else as he imparted, ‘I heard the quad bike arriving.’ His smile widened to a grin. ‘Yiannis will have nothing to do with it, but Xanthe uses it at every opportunity—flat out!’
Unable to respond for her swamping awareness of that naked, lithely lean and powerful physique, Maddie willed her pulses to stop racing, waiting until he had rapidly clothed himself in narrow white jeans topped by a silky black shirt, open-necked, sleeves rolled up to display tanned, muscular forearms, before getting out, ‘I would like to phone my parents.’
She marvelled at his duplicity as he reached his mobile from the top of a dressing chest, found the number, and passed the instrument to her, saying, ‘Of course—you’ll want to tell them our good news. I know they’ll be delighted to hear they can look forward to being grandparents again. Be sure to give them my regards.’ A swift kiss landed on her brow. ‘Don’t be too long. I’d speak to them myself, but I must see to Xanthe. We’ll eat on the terrace and count the stars as they come out to celebrate our new beginning.’
And he was gone, leaving her listening to the ringing tone and fuming. Give them his regards—oh, the low-life! How could he? When all the time he was doubtlessly planning on throwing them off his property when he no longer had need of his disposable wife!
She had to warn them of that strong possibility.
