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He boughttwo cups of gelati from the store, and they walked through town eating, talking, but things were different now. Awareness had shifted. It hummed between them, growing louder with every step, more imperative, so it was no longer a question ofifthey’d indulge their needs butwhen.
Denying it was futile, and far less fun.
Fun?
There had been nothing fun about that kiss. It had been essential, lifesaving, terrifying, even. He closed his eyes and saw the mark he’d left on her breast, the pleasure it had brought him to physically delineate his possession of her. How barbaric that was! How seriously messed up. He was competing with his dead father, and the worst part was, if Konstantinos were still alive, Anastasios couldn’t have said who Phoebe might have chosen.
The thought brought him no pleasure.
They walked down the ramp, towards the beach, sometime in the early afternoon, and the air between them crackled with the building awareness. He pushed the craft off the sand, floating it in the water, then turned to face her. Phoebe’s eyes were on the town, a look of nostalgia there.
“I’m just committing it to memory,” she explained wistfully. “It’s honestly been one of the best days of my life.”
Pleasure thundered through him, of a different nature—a different sort of triumph. He’d given her that. Not his father, but him, Anastasios. And he liked the way it felt.
The afternoon sun was high, beating down on them, and before climbing back onto the jet ski, Phoebe lifted the dress from her body and sunk into the water, reminding him again of a beautiful mermaid. He watched her because he couldn’t do anything else, and when she stood, he extended a hand, guiding her to the craft.
He took his seat first, holding his breath until she’d placed herself behind him, one leg on either side of his body, arms wrapped around his waist. His arousal strained at the fabric of his board shorts and he was glad their positioning made it impossible for her to see.
Staff were waiting as they approached the boat, so all Anastasios and Phoebe had to do was slide off the jet ski, into the water, and the crew brought around the swing, securing it to four points of the jet ski and lifting it back onboard.
Phoebe watched from the water, fascinated by the mechanism, and he studied her. The inevitability of their coming together was in every movement they made. Beneath the water, his body sought hers, and hers his, so they came close to one another, their feet moving in unison to remain afloat. He wanted her, and he no longer doubted that he would have her. But delaying the inevitable was its own form of pleasurable torture, and a reassuring demonstration of control. Bringing himself to the edge of his patience then pulling back showed that he didn’t act purely as his libido required.
“I have a surprise for you.”
“Oh?”
Her thoughts were written all over her face, so he laughed softly, to cover how damned tempted he was.
“Not that.”
Heat flushed her cheeks and something lurched deep in the center of his being.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she lied, badly.
“Then let me show you.” He moved closer, eyes teasing hers as he kissed her lightly on the tip of her nose. “Race you to the boat.”
Chapter9
PHOEBE’S HEAD WAS SPINNING. The afternoon had been a complete whirlwind. From the moment they’d stepped onboard the yacht, the crew had swung into action, leading Phoebe to her room where a stylist was waiting with a selection of couture gowns, shoes and bags. Phoebe conducted a mini-fashion show, conscious the entire time of the purple mark on her breast, and how it had gotten there. She chose a deep red gown in the end, totally unlike anything she’d ever worn before, with simple satin spaghetti straps, and a vee neck at the front. It clung to her like a second skin, falling like water, the silky fabric making it impossible to wear a bra, so her nipples tingled against the dress as she moved. It fell to her ankles, cut on the bias, emphasizing the gentle swell of her hips, and she teamed the dress with a pair of black espadrilles, that were both elegant and comfortable. A small black clutch would carry her essentials.
After she was dressed, the stylist set to work arranging her hair, blow drying it in large, voluptuous curls until it fell down her back in tumbling waves. Her makeup was modest, just a dash of lipstick and mascara to emphasize her features, per Phoebe’s request.
She stood transformed, and yet she still had no idea where they were going.
When she stepped into the living room, Anastasios was fixing them drinks—a mineral water for Phoebe and a scotch for himself, and the look he gave her made her skin sizzle all over.
He stopped what he was doing, staring at her slowly, possessively, his eyes travelling from her glossy hair to her breasts, to her hips and all the way down to her feet, then back, his head shaking slowly.
“You are stunning.”
She smiled, the red lipstick that had been artfully applied making her teeth seem extra white.
“Thank you.”
He reached into his pocket and removed a long, velvet box. “I have a little something extra.”
“Oh?” Her heart went into dangerous territory, racing faster and faster.
