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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, healing friendship and turning it into something cynical and wrong. He was also implying something else, but it took her a moment comprehend. Had he kissed her just now to prove a point? To show them both how easy she was? 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.
It was only after unfolding it completely that she realized it was a cheque, not from Konstantinos but Anastasios, and for a truly obscene amount.
Her stomach dropped to her toes and she sobbed, but not for Konstantinos, so much as for how Anastasios had made her feel. For as long as she lived, she wouldn’t give him another thought. He didn’t deserve that.
Despite her mountain of debts, she tore the cheque in half in a wild burst of anger, the cathartic act almost convincing her she could actually succeed in forgetting this whole unpleasant business.
Anastasios pressed his back against the stone wall of the townhouse, eyes closed, breath coming in hard spurts as he reckoned with what had just happened, mind going into overdrive.
He was no inexperienced teenager.
He’d had plenty of experience controlling his baser urges, but this was something else. He couldn’t explain it. There were no words to do justice to the level of need he’d felt for Phoebe bloody Whittaker. He knew only that she’d looked at him and something had exploded in his gut, propelling him across the room, making him kiss her, drag her to her bed. Hell, how close had he come to actually having sex with the woman?
And why was he now racked with a sense of remorse for stepping away from that?
