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Unless he knew! Fear pooled deep down in her gut, turning the contents of her stomach to rebellion mode. She’d thought she was being careful enough, but maybe he’d discovered her secret himself. Maybe he was furious with her for not telling him, for deceiving him—just like Garry had been.
It was history repeating itself. Here was another man she’d hidden the truth from. Another man deceived. Why the hell hadn’t she learned something from her first appalling experience? Why the hell had she waited to tell Loukas?
Fool, she thought, as he left the drinks on the bar and closed the distance between them empty-handed. Her stomach churned, her feet seemingly cemented to the floor when all she really wanted to do was flee. Of course she’d waited! Because she’d known exactly what would happen once she told him—she wouldn’t see him for dust. And she would have missed out on three incredible nights, the scorching memories of which were going to keep her warm at night long after he was gone.
Was that what he was building up to now? Was this the end?
She swallowed as he came to a standstill in front of her, the action forcing up her chin defiantly. ‘Have I done something wrong?’ She’d dredged confidence from somewhere. Her words sounded far braver than she felt. But she had to know where she stood. Her mind was already working on her defence. I was going to tell you! Now! Tonight!
He said nothing, the wine glasses on the bar forgotten, the look on his face confusing her—too many tangled emotions to make sense of, too much to understand. Then a muscle in his jaw spasmed, lifting the corner of his mouth, and somehow the layers seemed to slide from his features, the anger, the resentment dissolving away, so that all that was left was undisguised and all the more potent. Raw desire—need—there was no misinterpreting his message now.
‘I’m not actually all that thirsty any more,’ he said, his breath brushing lightly across her cheek, setting her skin to prickling awareness all the way down to her toes. ‘How about you?’
His eyes riveted her to the spot. She could no sooner take her eyes from his than walk to the moon. She gave a single barely-there shake of her head. ‘No,’ she said.
He smiled then, and curved his arms around her neck, the pads of his fingers still cool from the wine glasses while the reaction they triggered was anything but. His thumbs stroked her earlobes, tugging gently on her gold hoops. Her eyelids fluttered closed. There was something wonderfully sexy about the way he did that, something strangely hypnotic—his eyes locked on hers, his fingers tugging, insistent, on her soft flesh.
Then his mouth dipped to hers, and it was the turn of his mouth to catch her bottom lip, securing the plump flesh between his teeth before releasing it. Again and again he repeated the tender gesture, as sweetly as if he were playing an instrument, while she stood entranced, eyes closed, the rhythm of his gentle movements building on the need mounting, coiling inside.
Only when he released her lip one final time did she open her eyes. He sighed then, almost as if he was reluctantly giving himself over to something he didn’t quite understand, but there was no time to ponder his expression once he uttered his next words.
‘Then come to bed.’
And, just like his caresses, his lovemaking was slow and languid, his movements designed to extract every last drop of pleasure from the act. His hands explored her skin, rounding over her curves, dipping into her hollows, taking his time as if he was reading her through his fingertips. And all the while his mouth worshipped her, tasting her, laving her.
Slow, exquisite torture. The pace suited her mood, matched her needs. And gave her the time to drink in his body, to memorise the lines of his sculpted torso. Because she would tell him tonight—in the lush afterglow of sex, when the memory of their lovemaking might mellow his response. And then finally there would be no lies between them, no deception.
But that would be later. Right now she accepted each tender kiss, each gentle caress, mentally documenting them along with every taste, every different texture of his skin, storing them away as if they might be her last opportunity.
And even when they finally came together—their bodies so slick as if oiled, their breathing coming fast—even then he controlled the pace, driving into her purposefully, lending his entire length to her, then resting subtly before withdrawing, achingly slowly, tormenting her, driving her crazy before thrusting into her again. And in this way, slowly, steadily, inexorably, she felt it building, an overwhelming force that lifted her higher and higher as he continued his relentless drive into her until there was nowhere left to go, nowhere left to climb.
