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Her liquid heat drenched him, more than enough to send him over the edge. He moaned as the force of his release spilled from him. Shuddering with mindless pleasure, he emptied himself into her, and then slumped across her body in a total state of abandon.
Demetri opened his eyes to the sound of a shower running. For a moment he stared up at the ceiling above his head, seeing nothing familiar in its papered surface, sure he’d never seen a ceiling in that particular shade of peach before.
Then his eyes lowered to the windows, tall casement windows, shaded by ruched Roman blinds in a contrasting shade of lime green. The blinds were drawn against the daylight that was visible in a line above the sill.
Totally unfamiliar.
Yet suddenly totally recognisable.
Demetri sucked in a jagged breath, pushed himself into an upright position and looked about the room with unbelieving eyes. God, he was in Jane’s apartment, Jane’s bed! What in hell had he been thinking of? He’d come here to ask her for a divorce, not to have sex with her, for pity’s sake.
He closed his eyes again, hoping against hope that it was all some crazy dream, that when he opened them again he’d be back in his own bedroom in Kalithi, with the sound of the Mediterranean a gentle murmur in his ears.
But it wasn’t to be. When he lifted his lids for a second time, it was to find he was still occupying Jane’s bed, a single sheet, which he suspected she’d thrown over him, covering him from hip to thigh.
Which was just as well, he reflected, conscious that an awareness of his surroundings had done nothing to quell an arousal that was as vigorous as it was inappropriate. Hristo, he was supposed to be thinking of a way to get out of this with his dignity intact, not allowing his mind to wander into the bathroom and the delights of sharing Jane’s shower.
Forcing himself to get out of bed, he groped for his boxers and pulled them on. Then, without giving himself time to think, he tugged his T-shirt over his head and stepped into his trousers, only cursing when he hurt himself fastening his zip.
The shower ceased abruptly, and, although he was tempted to wait and see what she’d be wearing when she came out of the bathroom, common sense had him snatching up his shoes and jacket and letting himself out of the bedroom before he made another mistake.
In the living room, he pushed his feet into his loafers and pulled on his jacket. Then he combed slightly unsteady fingers through his hair. Theos, he thought, looking about him, how had it happened? How had a simple conversation turned into a sensual assault on his senses?
Why had he been fool enough to go in there? Why hadn’t he waited until she’d composed herself and then completed the interview with speed and objectivity? It was what she’d said she wanted, for heaven’s sake. And when she’d first quit the room, he’d assumed she’d gone to get dressed and nothing else. It was only as the minutes had slipped by and there’d been no sound from the bedroom that he’d become suspicious.
Anxious, even, he conceded wryly. Jane had always been able to do that to him. In the three years they’d been together, he’d lost count of the number of occasions when she’d walked out on him. The fact was, he’d usually gone after her, desperate to assure himself that she was all right. Just like today.
He sighed. Even so, finding her in tears like that shouldn’t have affected him as much as it had. It wasn’t his fault they weren’t still together, and if him asking for a divorce meant that much to her, why hadn’t she tried to see him again before the situation had deteriorated as badly as it had?
None of it made any sense, not least the pleasure he’d gained from making love to her just now. He hated to admit it, but he hadn’t enjoyed himself so much since the last time they’d been together.
Having sex with other women had never done it for him. And, although when Jane had left him he’d told himself it would be easy enough to replace her, he never had. He’d lost count of the number of women his mother had paraded in front of him, hoping to persuade him that remaining single wasn’t an option for him. But his marriage to Jane had spoiled him for other woman, and he’d begun to believe that whatever happened he would never have that kind of sexual satisfaction again.
But now he had.
With her!
Although he’d sat down on the sofa to put on his shoes, now he got to his feet again. He couldn’t sit still, not when his whole world was in turmoil. This was supposed to have been a short meeting, the courtesy of telling her himself instead of allowing her to learn the truth from his London solicitor. Instead, as his mother had feared, he’d allowed her to get under his skin, again.
