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She tried to speak. ‘I don’t... There’s no sorcery.’
His gaze raked her up and down and she trembled under its force. Her breasts felt heavy, their tips tightening into hard points, pressing against the silky material. Her body remembered this man. His touch. But she didn’t. Frustration coursed through her. She couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth, the firm sculpted lines.
Apollo barely heard Sasha’s denial. He knew this was madness. That he shouldn’t have come to her bedroom. But rational thought was fast dissolving in a haze of lust. He reached out and caught a loose tendril of silky hair, winding it around his finger, tugging her gently towards him.
When he looked down he could see her breasts rising and falling with her rapid breath, pale swells framed enticingly by lace, inviting him to touch, explore. Electricity hummed between them, thick and urgent.
He tipped her chin up with his forefinger and thumb. Her eyes were huge pools of blue. He had a flashback to the first time he’d kissed her, sitting in a discreet booth of the exclusive hotel bar where he’d taken her for a drink when she’d finished work on that first night.
It had been a rare novelty, waiting for her to emerge from a staff entrance of the hotel. He could remember the sensation of something loosening inside him. He’d been so focused for so long and suddenly he’d been diverted from that single-mindedness.
She’d been endearingly self-conscious in her black skirt, white shirt and black jacket. Flat shoes. Sheer tights.
He’d wanted her then and he wanted her now. He lowered his head, anticipation prickling across his skin. He’d thought he’d never kiss her again.
Hadn’t wanted to.
But he was being punished for that complacency now, because here he was, as consumed with lust as he had been the first time.
Tension was a tight coil inside Sasha as she waited for Apollo’s mouth to touch hers and she told herself desperately that he’d kissed her before—more than kissed her, so it shouldn’t come as a shock—but when his mouth touched hers, it was more than a shock. It was an earthquake, erupting from her solar plexus and spreading out to every nerve-ending, bringing with it thousands of volts of electricity.
She wasn’t even aware of her hands going to his shirt and clinging on for dear life. His hands were in her hair, angling her head, and their mouths were on fire. She tasted the whisky he’d been drinking and she felt molten and solid all at the same time. It was intoxicating, and nothing could have prepared her for this.
His chest was a steel wall against her breasts. She arched instinctively closer, seeking closer contact. One of his hands moved down, skimming over her arm, around to her back, pressing her even closer.
His arousal pressed against her lower belly and the flood of damp heat between her legs was almost embarrassing. She pressed her thighs together in a bid to stem the rising tide of desire but it was impossible.
But at that very moment Apollo pulled back. It was so sudden that Sasha went with him and he had to steady her, putting his hands on her arms. She opened her eyes, feeling dizzy. Stunned.
She was breathing as if she’d run a race. Her heart was hammering, and a hunger that was new and yet familiar at the same time pounded through her blood, demanding to be satisfied. She felt greedy. Needy.
It took a second for Apollo’s face to come back into focus and when she registered his harsh expression she pulled free of his hands, even though her legs still felt jittery.
He said, ‘That shouldn’t have happened. It was never part of this marriage deal. Go to bed, Sasha, it’s late.’
He turned and left the room and Sasha stared after the empty space for a long minute. She felt too shell-shocked to even be irritated that he’d spoken to her like a child, as if she’d walked into his room and kissed him.
Her skin felt seared alive, her heart was still racing and her whole body was crying out for a fulfilment it knew but couldn’t remember. Her breasts ached and she throbbed between her legs, and that was after just a kiss.
She moved on autopilot, closing the doors to the balcony, slipping out of the robe and under the covers of the bed. She eventually fell into a fitful sleep, with thoughts and dreams full of disjointed, disturbing images.
Apollo stood under the punishing spray of a cold shower for longer than he could almost bear. Eventually he got out and hitched a towel around his waist, catching his reflection in the mirror above the sink.
He looked pained. And he knew it wasn’t from the cold shower. What the hell had he been thinking—going to Sasha’s room? Kissing her? He hadn’t been thinking. That was the problem.
It had taken every ounce of his restraint to pull back and not rip apart those flimsy garments, spreading her back on the bed so he could relive the night they’d shared in London. So that he could consummate this marriage.
This marriage was not about consummation or sleeping together. And while he hadn’t wanted her it had been all too easy to forget he had ever wanted her.
You never forgot.
He scowled at his reflection.
But now the floodgates were open. He’d tasted Sasha again and she was as potent as she had been the first time.
He wanted his wife.
But she was the last thing he should want. Especially not when she had the ability to reopen old wounds with just a look from those huge eyes. What he needed was to excise Sasha from his life once and for all.
