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‘You are. You’re going to marry Roula and have big, fat babies and live on Anapliró. Well, I won’t be your mistress. I can’t be!’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘You’ll cheat.’
‘I would never cheat.’
‘I’ll be your London lover, then,’ Mary accused. ‘You’ll roll through the city every now and then and I’ll—’
‘Seriously,’ he said, ‘what the hell are you talking about?’
‘Costa, why did you bring me up here?’
He looked at her, all flushed and angry—and jealous! Oh, yes, she was!
Costa smiled inwardly at her misunderstanding, but he loved this game too much to concede just yet.
‘I want sex.’
He had warned Mary he would be upfront about it when he asked, and she stood there, surrounded by balloons, watching unmoved as he took his tie off.
And then he shrugged away his jacket.
‘Are you going to just stand there?’ he asked, thinking of the other time she had stood in his doorway, so innocent yet so utterly brave.
‘How dare you? To come here and expect this...to toy with me when I’ve told you I love you. I can’t, Costa. I won’t.’
She watched him strip off so easily; he made her weak and so desperate to join him.
‘I can’t be a mistress or whatever... I can’t be lonely any more.’
‘Mary, you’re never going to be lonely again.’
And at that point she just melted.
One last time and then it would be over.
He kissed her so hard that she saw stars, and her skin screamed for him as he shed her dress.
She had on her Hope Dies Tonight underwear set. Not that she’d ever be wearing it again, for he tore it off.
And she was weak, weak,weak. Because she was frantically kissing him back. He tasted of cognac, and decadence, and it was the kiss she wished she’d been able to give him had he taken her to his suite that first night.
It was desperate.
She was scaling his body, clinging to him, and the constant need he created was pounding at her senses. The low throb of desire that had begun on the night of her birthday had become a constant companion.
He held her hips and one of the balloons popped—or was it her resistance? Because she was sinking onto him, wrapping herself around him.
She bit his shoulder, for it was as if they were back in the pool, or on his dark navy bed, only it didn’t hurt this time.
He guided her to a table and placed her hands behind her, so that she held herself up on its edges. Mary arched back, with nothing but the impossible pull of him holding her up. He was watching their rapid union, looking down at where they were joined. The sharp, breathy noises he made as her slippery body writhed in his hands seemed to spur him on, yet he held her steady so he could drive into her.
She wanted to watch him, but her neck was arching back. So she gave in to the delicious sensation. His shout and the way he seemed to swell inside her were both urgent, but she was lost in the abrupt thrusts he delivered, and in his sudden stillness as he drove into her for the final time, holding himself there while he poured himself into her.
And as he cried out she shuddered around him, knowing that nothing would ever be as incredible as this moment right here, right now.
Her arms were trembling and he was stroking her stomach, still shuddering with his last precious drops, and it actually hurt to feel sensation receding.
