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Another kiss. Dear God, she better not embarrass herself again.
‘Okay,’ she croaked and closed her eyes, just to be safe. Being close to him was almost more than she could handle, let alone looking at him at the same time.
A fleeting warmth brushed over her lips and she found herself trembling. Wanting to go on her toes again and kiss him back, taste him the way she had a week earlier. Remind herself again of his rich, heady flavour. It would stay with her for ever, she knew, and even just thinking about it made her desperate for more.
Was there something wrong with her that she couldn’t stop thinking about kissing him? That she couldn’t stop thinking about wanting more? About exploring him to discover whether he was as hard as he looked, whether he was as hot. Whether his skin would taste—
‘You look hot.’ His voice had gone even deeper, a seductive roughness edging his tone. ‘Perhaps we should get you somewhere cooler.’
Glory stiffened, feeling as if she’d let slip something she shouldn’t. She wanted to pull away, but his arm remained securely around her and it wouldn’t look good for anyone watching if she did, so she stayed where she was.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, her own voice sounding wooden in her ears.
He stared at her a second, his expression hidden by the sunglasses, then without another word, he turned for the jet, urging her along with him.
‘That should give them a couple of good pictures,’ he said. ‘Thank you. You did well.’
There was a warmth in the words that made her stomach flip over, which was silly when he’d only said thank you.
‘No problem,’ she forced out.
This was crazy. Her mouth was tingling, every inch of her was exquisitely aware of him and there was an ache right down low inside her, between her thighs. A nagging, dragging kind of feeling.
She wanted to step away, put some distance between them. But she didn’t dare, not when there were photographers around.
Castor ushered her up the stairs and into the jet, and for a second she was distracted from his disturbing physical presence by the realisation that she was actually standing in someone’s private jet.
Hisprivate jet.
Because this was Castor Xenakis, head of a billion-dollar corporation, as renowned in the boardroom as he was in the bedroom, and of course he’d travel by private luxury jet.
The interior was all pale carpet and cream leather, with low coffee tables in a dark wood. A pleasant, smiling woman in a pale blue uniform greeted them, but Castor murmured something to her and she soon disappeared off down the back of the plane, leaving him to guide Glory to her seat himself.
‘I can do it,’ Glory muttered, achingly aware of him as he leaned over to help her with her seatbelt.
‘I know you can.’ He pulled the seatbelt across her. ‘Humour me.’
She wasn’t sure why she had to humour him, but she didn’t want to argue, so she let him fasten the belt in place before he mercifully stepped back and sat down in the seat facing hers.
Ten minutes later they were in the air and the smiles he’d had for her earlier were gone. It was as if he was a different person, the person he’d been that night at his mansion, angry and fierce and driven.
She’d been fascinated by him then, but now, given her own uncertainty, she wouldn’t have minded seeing one of his smiles, even the practised ones.
‘So,mikri alepou,’ he said. ‘I suppose now I should tell you the truth about why I want to marry you.’
Glory’s soft, red mouth opened, then shut, her russet brows drawing together in puzzlement. ‘But you’ve already told me. Something to do with a project, I think you said.’
Castor wasn’t sure why he was talking to her about this or what had prompted him to bring it up. It was only that dressed in a plain white T-shirt and jeans with a couple of stains on them, and her curls in a haphazard ponytail, he’d been struck anew by how painfully not of his world she was. How unpractised and innocent, and how irresponsible it was of him to use her the way he was doing.
Yes, but you’re doing this for Ismena’s sake. You can’t forget that.
It was true, he was. Yet leaving Glory in the dark didn’t sit well with him, especially given how young and vulnerable she was.
Or how attracted you are to her.
He let out a silent breath.
This whole week he’d busied himself with his wedding plans, trying to forget about that kiss and how haunted he was by the heat of her mouth and how sweet she’d tasted. How she’d pressed her lush little body against his and kissed him back, hungry for him. And how he’d found himself pushing her up against the wall without even being aware of it.
