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But now he’d turned into a vengeful stranger and she didn’t think she could keep up the pretence of indifference much longer.
‘Answer me, Sophie! Would you come to me to fund an abortion?’
‘That question doesn’t deserve an answer.’ Stubbornly she stared out the window, eyes blinking at the bright blue cloudless sky. The serene, blazing Greek sun half-blinded her—mocking her pretensions in ever hoping for a future with this man.
A large hand grabbed her elbow and Costas swung her around so abruptly she almost fell. But he was so close, his other hand already supporting her, that she merely stumbled. The inevitable tremor spread from his touch along her arms, reminding her of those hours not long ago when his caress had been searingly tender, heartbreakingly gentle.
And she hated her weakness in remembering.
His eyes fired with unholy anger as he thrust his belligerent face towards hers. Every plane, every angle was harsh and unforgiving.
‘Answer me!’
Fear scudded through her, now she was up close to such potent rage. She could feel his fury in his hands, clamped so hard on her arms that she had pins and needles from the restricted blood flow. She could smell it in his blood-hot masculine scent, taste it in the heat of his breath on her face.
But she refused to be cowed. His anger fuelled her courage. How dare he talk to her like that?
‘And which part of that scenario would bother you most, Kyrie Palamidis? The abortion itself or me asking you to foot the bill?’
‘Christos!’ He shook her once, twice, as a flurry of fierce Greek split the air.
Sophie’s head swam as she stared up into his dark face. She didn’t recognise the man she saw. He looked as savage, as dangerous as a predator, moving in for the kill.
‘You will not dispose of any child of mine as if it were some inconvenience,’ he snarled.
‘And you will stop making insulting assumptions about me,’ she gasped between strangled breaths. Fruitlessly she tried to wrest herself from his punishing hold. Now, before the emotion clogging her throat welled into shameful tears.
She’d done nothing wrong. She didn’t deserve his contempt!
‘I am not pregnant with your precious baby,’ she spat at him. ‘And even if I were, I wouldn’t consider a termination.’ She stopped to drag down air into a chest so tight she couldn’t seem to fill it with oxygen. ‘More than that, you’re the last person I’d ever accept money from.’
Her hair swirled round her face as she struggled to break his grip. She was so frantic to escape she didn’t notice the way he shifted his weight, crowding closer.
‘Enough! You will hurt yourself if you don’t calm down.’
Inexorably he drew her arms back so he could shackle both her wrists in his hands. She was no match for his strength. She couldn’t prevent him from bowing her back over his other arm.
She was helpless against his power. And against the savage determination she read in his eyes.
‘Let me go—’ Her protest ended in muffled outrage as his mouth blocked hers.
Savagely he kissed her, like some rapacious thief, plundering so thoroughly that she could barely breathe. He bruised her lips, invaded her mouth with a blatant, masculine possessiveness that stamped his domination on her.
Shock held her in its grasp and she almost choked on a sob. There was no tenderness here. No shred of the magic that had enthralled her last night. This time the hard length of his body was a weapon, crushing her into absolute submission.
After her hopes and tender dreams last night, she felt defiled. The pain of her disillusionment was so raw she thought her heart would bleed.
‘Sophie.’ The unrelenting pressure abated a fraction and his words feathered across her swollen lips. ‘You make me wild. I can’t believe.’
Hot kisses trawled down her chin, her neck, to her collar-bone. He pressed his mouth to the tender flesh there, sucking gently till she shuddered in unwilling response. He knew every erogenous zone on her body—he’d spent the night learning each one.
To Sophie’s horror she felt the familiar electric charge of excitement skitter through her. She was trembling, but not solely with outrage.
He took her mouth again, but gently, so tenderly that she might have been some fragile, breakable treasure. He slid his lips along hers as if seeking permission to enter. His tongue flicked out, drawing her opposition from her.
His hand came up to hold her breast, squeeze it, sending another heated, frantic response through her nerve-endings. Dimly she registered the hollow feeling between her legs. The wanting. His caress slowed as he circled her nipple, just as his tongue stroked her mouth.
She moaned and felt the caress of his arm at her back, cradling her against him.
