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She wondered if he was aware of the emotional impact of his words, or of the exact way he’d phrased them—because didn’t his relationship with his partner sound way more intimate and close than the one he had with her? Lucy could feel her heart punching against her chest in a way which was making her feel almost dizzy. ‘I see. And does... Amy choose all your girlfriends’ clothes for you?’
‘Never. But then I’ve never been in a situation like this before. I knew your wardrobe was insufficiently versatile to be able to cope with your new role as my wife,’ he said, clearly seeking diplomatic words to take the sting out of his statement. ‘And I thought you’d be too busy packing to have the time to hit the shops.’
Was that so? Or just that he thought she would fail miserably at the task? That her lack of experience—and money—meant she’d be incapable of selecting her own clothes? But Lucy tried to be positive and take Drakon at his word. She had to be, or this simply wasn’t going to work. And she would never have chosen any of these exquisite clothes—not in a million years. She wouldn’t have dared purchase items which individually probably cost more than she earned in a month. The question was whether she’d be able to change or return any without embarrassment if they turned out not to fit.
On a nearby chest she could see a deep drawer which was partially open and, sucking in a breath, she walked over and pulled it wide open to find it filled with the most provocative lingerie imaginable. Sexy thong panties were lined up beside balcony bras. Silk stockings and lacy suspender belts lay side by side and Lucy blinked at them in disbelief, sudden ice rippling down her spine. ‘Please don’t tell me your partner choose these?’
He shook his head and laughed. ‘Of course not. I bought these myself. It happens to be the most enjoyable shopping trip I’ve done in years, if you must know. Do you like them?’
Lucy continued to stare at them as she considered his question. On the one hand, of course she did. This was the kind of underwear she’d never imagined herself wearing, not in her wildest dreams. It was impossible not to like such exquisitely made garments, nor to imagine the amount of work which must have gone into making them, but... She turned to him, blinking her eyes rapidly. ‘How on earth did you know my s
ize?’
He shrugged. ‘I guessed.’
‘You guessed,’ she repeated slowly. ‘Because you have such a comprehensive knowledge of a woman’s body that you instinctively know what size bra she wears?’
‘I’m in the ship-building industry, Lucy. Learning about dimensions comes with the territory.’ A smile curved the edges of his sensual mouth. ‘The shoes were a little more difficult.’
‘The shoes?’ she questioned blankly as the expansive wave of his hand indicated rows of high-heeled shoes and butter-soft leather boots she hadn’t even noticed before. She wondered what on earth he was doing as he bent down to retrieve something from underneath the bed, and was momentarily taken aback when he produced a suede moccasin and waved it in the air—like a magician plucking a rabbit from a top hat. ‘That’s my shoe!’ she declared.
‘I know.’ He gave slow smile. ‘I picked it up from that pile by your front door so I could get your size right, on the day I asked you to marry me. It isn’t really a winter shoe, so I didn’t think you’d notice it had gone.’
It took a couple of seconds before Lucy could bring herself to speak and when she did her words came spitting out like bullets. ‘I did notice, as it happens. I don’t actually own enough pairs of shoes not to realise when one goes missing.’ She glared at him, still not quite believing what he’d just told her. ‘So let me get this straight. You thought you’d go ahead with some modern-day enactment of Cinderella’s slipper and I’m supposed to coo with delight in response?’
‘I certainly had hoped for something a little more enthusiastic than your current reaction,’ he offered drily.
‘Well, please don’t bother in future. Like I said, I’m not the biggest fan of surprises. In fact, don’t bother with—’
But her sentence was destined never to be completed because Drakon had pulled her into his arms and was kissing her. Kissing her so thoroughly that all the breath left her lungs. And Lucy let him. No, that wasn’t quite true. She actively encouraged him. Was it lack of oxygen which made her so instantly yielding? Which made her gasp out a note of breathless approval as his mouth roved hungrily over hers, before darting her tongue into his mouth as if it were a weapon? Or was it simply that she was so incensed by what he’d done—by his arrogance and control—that she felt as if she’d been taken over by a different kind of desire? So that very quickly the kiss became something it had never been on Prasinisos. This wasn’t soft and searching but punishing, and hard. It was driven by frustration—that he had been so high-handed about overhauling her appearance and given someone she’d never met carte blanche to play such a key role in changing it. But there was physical frustration, too, gnawing away inside her like some alien creature she had no idea how to handle. She wondered if sex would release some of the tight frustration which was coiling inside her like a compressed spring. Whether now was the time to tell him she didn’t want his partner buying her clothes for her. That she wasn’t just some kind of doll who could be dressed up for his approval before she was permitted to be seen in public.
‘I don’t know why we’re fighting about clothes, Lucy,’ he said unevenly as they broke away to drag oxygen into their air-starved lungs. ‘Since my expressed preference is to see you not wearing anything at all.’
And wasn’t it pathetic how thrilled she was to hear that husky compliment? As if she was only just beginning to realise that, despite her somewhat homely appearance and complete lack of fashion sense, Drakon Konstantinou really did fancy her. But that was one of the reasons she was here, Lucy reminded herself. Her midwifery training wouldn’t mean a thing without the white-hot chemistry which seemed to combust whenever they touched.
She felt blindsided by the sense of something which, having been awoken, now needed urgently to be fed. Was that why she let him kiss her again and to deepen it with provocative intimacy, so that she moaned softly into his mouth? And something about that moan made him lever her up against the wall, his face dark and inscrutable as he looked down at her. She could sense the tension which was making his powerful body seem as tight as a strung bow and, where they were touching, her skin felt as if it were on fire.
His fingers were unbuttoning her grey coat and unashamedly roving beneath her sweater and when he jutted his hips forward like that, she could feel the hard column of his erection pressing against her. Beneath her thick denim jeans the molten slick of desire made itself known and Lucy longed for him to touch her there. His fingers were whispering over the cool skin of her torso, moving down towards the top button of her jeans, and she shivered as he popped it open then slid her zip down with a dexterity which suggested he must have undressed millions of women before.
But suddenly Lucy saw herself as an outside observer might see her—all windswept and rumpled with the Greek tycoon’s fingers burrowing their way inexorably towards her panties. Why, she hadn’t even taken her coat off! She’d only been in his apartment for ten minutes and all they’d done was to fight and kiss and now he was about to take it one step further. If she didn’t put a halt to this then before she knew it, she would be pressed up against that wall with Drakon thrusting deep inside her.
She pressed her hand against his chest, feeling the powerful pound of his heart beneath her palm. ‘We need to stop this right now.’
‘Oh, Lucy. That’s not the message I was getting a moment ago,’ he drawled.
Well, it’s the m-message you’re getting now,’ she said, unable to iron the tremble from her voice. ‘I need to freshen up before Sofia comes back with the baby and to...’
‘To what?’ he questioned mockingly as her words tailed off.
Lips pressed together, she gave him a determined smile. ‘To unpack my case and settle in. And to be honest, Drakon...’ She hesitated. ‘I think you’re right about having separate rooms, but let’s do it properly, shall we—with no sneaking around the corridors at midnight? Maybe we should wait until we’re married until we have...’’
‘Sex?’ he supplied, his eyebrows arching in disbelief. ‘Is that what you’re trying to say?’
She could feel hot colour flooding her cheeks and, although she realised she could be accused of having double standards, wasn’t it better this way? Because what if her earlier doubts came true and she drove him crazy—wouldn’t it be easier to draw a line under the whole thing if they hadn’t become lovers? Easier to walk away if she hadn’t had a second distracting taste of physical intimacy? And it would do Drakon good to demonstrate that he wasn’t the one making all the rules, and she wasn’t going to be totally submissive. To show him that she might have agreed to this marriage of convenience but that didn’t make her into some sort of puppet.
‘That’s exactly what I’m trying to say,’ she agreed primly.
Still he waited, as if she was going to suddenly turn around and tell him she was joking—as if no woman in her right mind would refuse the opportunity to fall into bed with him at the earliest opportunity.
