She Can't Say No to the Greek Tycoon

The woman was too dangerous.

So he’d left her. A tactical withdrawal.

He shrugged. He hadn’t exhibited any finesse, or even his customary good manners. Instead he’d left her to wake alone. He’d been more brutal, perhaps, than strictly necessary. But he didn’t want her harbouring illusions. He wasn’t after a permanent relationship.

But an affair—mutually satisfying—now, that was something completely different.

He felt the unfamiliar stretch of facial muscles as his mouth curved into a smile.

Time and again today he’d found himself succumbing to temptation: reaching for his keys, calculating how long it would take to drive home, race up the stairs and find her. Perhaps she’d even be in bed, waiting for him, as eager for his touch as he was for hers.

But no. It was late afternoon. She’d have vacated his bed hours ago.

He’d deliberately kept

away long enough to ensure there was no misunderstanding between them. He didn’t want her expecting more from him than he was prepared to give.

His nights would be hers, as long as it suited them both. But by day he had other duties. He ignored the fact that he’d just cancelled his last meeting so he could hurry back to her. He was a man, after all, not a machine. And no sane man would opt for a late-afternoon meeting when he could have Sophie instead.

He ignored too the guilty suspicion that he’d made his point too blatantly. He could have called her earlier and explained he’d be away all day. He could have left her a message this morning. In fact, he could have woken her when he left their bed. Except he’d been scared that he might be tempted to remain there, heedless of all else.

Costas had never experienced a craving that could compare with his appetite for this one woman. He didn’t know how to handle it.

Had he been a coward? Had he hurt her?

No. He’d been decisive, sensible. He’d started as he meant to go on. He knew Sophie, so open and honest, would appreciate that in the long run.

And after all, she’d waited for him on the beach last night. Clearly she now accepted his terms: no emotional ties, no plans for the future.

If she was disappointed this morning, well, he’d found it hard to leave her too. And he’d make it up to her.

Anticipation clenched his stomach muscles as he slowed for the electronic gates to open then nosed the car onto his private road.

Fleetingly this morning he’d felt guilt that he’d taken advantage of a guest under his roof. But he hadn’t been able to sustain the remorse, not as the memories flooded back of the incredible night they’d shared.

It had been debatable who had seduced whom down on the shore. She was a natural siren, luring him to forget his scruples, his hesitation, everything but the need for her in his arms.

His breath snagged in his chest. He imagined her lying in sated abandonment in the centre of his bed. Waiting for his touch to bring her to passionate life again.

His foot slid forward on the accelerator as he pictured himself igniting her passion with his hands, his mouth, his body. He wanted her again. But then he’d wanted her all night and all day. Had been aroused time and again by the scent of her arousal, the magic of her flesh against his and the slumberous eroticism of her heavy-lidded eyes when she woke to his caresses.

Her absolute responsiveness had stunned him, urging him on to want, to take more than he ever had from a woman before. And she’d revelled in it, answering his desire with her own urgent need, provoking him to love her longer, harder, more completely than he’d thought possible.

He ached as hunger, unabated and white hot, took hold again.

He’d received excellent news today from Eleni’s doctors. The best news. And he knew just how to celebrate it.

‘Yes, kyrie, she went out some time ago, towards the sea, I think.’ His housekeeper paused, frowning. ‘She didn’t look well. She was so pale, and she hasn’t eaten anything, not even a morsel.’

Foreboding slammed into him, carving a hollow in his stomach. He’d known something was wrong. Had sensed it as soon as he’d failed to find Sophie in the house.

‘Ah, here she is now,’ said the housekeeper, tilting her head. Then he heard it, the sound of the front door and Sophie’s light step across the foyer. ‘Shall I—?’

‘No. It’s all right.’ He was already turning away, ignoring the speculative gleam in his housekeeper’s eyes.

He strode down the hallway, but Sophie had disappeared from the entrance hall. He took the stairs two at a time, an atavistic presentiment of trouble urging him to hurry.

He pushed open her door and there she was, wearing the clothes he’d chosen for her this morning. And somehow that fact was even more intimate than all last night’s desperate loving.