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She groaned, because it was the kind of kiss stories were written about, filled with everything a person was capable of feeling. They were both grieving and hurt, both angry and frustrated, and somehow that had bubbled over to form the most compelling, urgent sense of need Phoebe had ever experienced.
She tangled her hands in his shirtfront, needing—something. More. Everything.
“Damn you,” he groaned into her mouth, as he pushed her back against the wall, propping one thigh between her legs, and she cried out at howgoodthat felt. Her pulse was going crazy, her mind in overdrive. Pleasure spun through her, but it wasn’t enough.
Common sense was demanding that she stop, that she take a moment to think about what was happening but Phoebe couldn’t listen to that voice. She could do nothing but feel.
Even when his hand skimmed her sides, lifting the t-shirt she wore, to reveal her naked torso, she did nothing but shiver, because some strange compulsion was driving her, and when he lifted her around the waist, holding her to him, she said nothing. He carried her into the only other room—where a narrow single bed was pressed up against a window.
“It’ll do,” he muttered, dropping her unceremoniously onto the bed and bringing his body over hers immediately, seeking her lips, so the fires in her veins exploded into lava streams and her hands were pushing wildly at his clothes, some ancient, feral rhythm driving her every movement. This defied sense and logic, but she didn’t care.
His chest bare, she stared at him for as long as she dared, unable to process the perfection of his ridged abdomen.
She moaned, needing him, so much of him, but how could she do this, given her lack of experience?
The question died before she could voice it, as his body pressed down on hers and she felt his arousal between her legs and craved the sensation of taking him deep inside.
“Anastasios,” she cried out, aware now of the madness consuming them, trying to summon the hateful things he’d said to her, the accusations he’d thrown at her feet in the past twenty four hours, but damn it, she was driven by other needs now.
His lips shifted, from her mouth to her throat, then lower to her breast, and when he took one nipple in his mouth, flicked it with her tongue, she cried out, the sensation so unlike anything she’d ever known, she could barely breathe. Stars filled her eyes and she arched her back as an ancient feminine drive powered her movements.
“Please,” she whimpered, twisting her hips in a wordless invitation.
He swore softly and then louder, pulling up and staring at her, his expression dazed.
“What the hell?” He jerked to standing, hands on hips, arousal brilliantly on display through his cotton shorts, so her mouth was dry and her heart palpitating.
“Anastasios?” Hope died in the word.
He was stepping back as far as the narrow bedroom allowed.
“You were my father’s lover. No way is this going to happen.” He dragged a hand through his hair though, his eyes devouring her naked breasts with obvious remorse, so she knew he wanted her still, as desperately as she did him.
“It wasn’t like that; you have to believe me.”
“Then what was it like?”
“I told you,” she pushed up to sitting, her heart still pounding against her ribs with the force of a grenade. “We were—,”
“Friends. The problem is, I’ve been lied to before, and it’s impossible to think you’re not lying now.”
“I’ve never lied to you before.”
“But he has.” He growled. “He lied every damned day for the last twenty five years; to me, my mother, my brothers, to all of us. And you’re a part of that. You’re a goddamned part of that.”
She flinched.
“He gave you something that was incredibly precious to my sister. His art has pride of place on your walls, and he left money to you in his will, a will he updated over a year ago. And let’s not ignore the fact you are clearly an incredibly desirable, and willing, woman.”
She flinched at that, seeing red, because he was taking a beautiful, innocent,healingfriendship and turning it into something cynical andwrong.He was also implying something else, but it took her a moment to comprehend. Had he kissed her just now to prove a point? To show them both how easily she would succumb to him? Bile rose in her throat.
“Perhaps you see things through the veil of your experiences,” she said with quiet pride, wriggling until she was on the edge of the bed and then standing, turning away from him to pull on a loose shirt. When she turned to face him, she wasn’t expecting the expression on his face—one of loss.
It softened parts of her she wanted to keep flint hard.
“This is pointless.” He raked his gaze over her, from the top of her head to her feet, then turned his back, stalking into the small lounge. He pulled on his jeans and shirt, then reached into the pocket of his pants to remove his wallet. He slid out a piece a paper and discarded it on the narrow bench. “Don’t contact my family. There’s nothing more for you.”
She flinched when he left, then moved to the bench, curious to see what he’d discarded.
