She Can't Say No to the Greek Tycoon

But now he was looking forward to the next time. He stroked a hand over her back. She was exhausted. Sleeping. It wouldn’t be right to disturb her. Not yet.

But she was getting cold, he realised as he felt goose-pimples on her shoulder. He had no idea how long they’d been lying here in each other’s arms, but the night was cooling.

Time to get his lover inside.

This time he knew his grin was smug. The thought of Sophie in his bed, where the lamplight would illuminate each glowing centimetre of her body and reveal every nuance of her response to him …

It was the work of a moment to wrap her in the towel and hoist her into his arms. He strode towards the track up to the house, grateful for the starlight to guide him.

‘Costas?’ The word feathered across his bare chest, low and tentative.

‘Just relax,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve got you.’ And I’m not going to let you go.

Even carrying her in his arms came naturally, as if she were de

signed precisely for him. ‘Our clothes—’ ‘Are safe where they are.’

She was silent a moment and then he felt her palm against his chest, hot like a brand.

‘No. I need to get my clothes. I—’

‘They’re unimportant, glikia mou. You won’t need them again tonight.’ The words heightened the anticipation already humming through his taut frame. He lengthened his stride.

‘No!’

His pace faltered at her vehement denial.

‘No,’ she repeated. ‘Someone might see.’

He laughed, relief lightening the sudden tension in his chest. For an instant he’d thought she meant to deny him. ‘No need to worry, Sophie. I have my own private entrance. The servants know not to intrude on my privacy unless told to.’

Her hair teased his flesh as she shook her head. Her hand pushed harder against him.

‘No! I don’t want …’ She paused. ‘Put me down.’

‘No need for that.’ He hugged her tight. Revelling in the smooth softness of her body against his where the towel had slipped. ‘I know this path like the back of my hand. You don’t.’

Already they’d reached the olive grove, a shadowed glade where the darkness was thicker.

‘I said put me down!’ The rapid rise and fall of her breasts told him as much as her words. He stopped, barely preventing an impatient sigh.

Why did women have to get so hung up about inessentials?

Hadn’t he already promised no one but he would see her? And she couldn’t be worried about a pair of jeans! No one was going to steal them. ‘Please.’

He could resist her, barely, when she argued with him, when she fought and challenged and defied him. But when she whispered in that low, honey-sweet voice, he had no defence.

He shifted his hold, trying and failing abysmally to ignore the sensation of her bare skin against him. There was minuscule comfort in the sound of her indrawn hiss of breath, telling him she felt the same excitement that held him rigid.

Slowly he lowered her, deliberately letting her slide centimetre by centimetre down his body. The towel dropped away, leaving only the two of them, naked flesh to naked flesh, on fire again with the most primitive of needs.

Blood pulsed loud in his ears, a counterpoint to their ragged breathing. Sweat broke across his skin as he felt her silken body press intimately against him.

Maybe stopping here in the olive grove wasn’t such a bad idea. The grass was long and soft, still scented with the day’s perfume of wild flowers.

He splayed his hands over her back, down, down, to cup her buttocks and draw her close against him. She shuddered, her hands tightening her hold on his shoulders.

He grinned into her hair.