‘You kissed me to prove a point. I was doing the same thing.’ Except that it had backfired. Disturbed by the look in his eyes, she a step backwards, terrified and fascinated in equal measure. ‘You’re the one who started this.’
‘I know. I accept full responsibility—and you’re right to be angry. It was a selfish, careless thing to do—’ he slid his hand into her hair and cupped the back of her head, drawing her towards him ‘—and I apologise.’ His soft words threw her because she hadn’t thought him capable of apology any more than she’d thought him capable of gentleness. And that gentleness was all the more seductive because it came from a man for whom strength and self-assurance was the norm.
The intimacy of the moment wrapped itself around her like a thousand invisible strands drawing them together. It was a connection she didn’t understand and therefore couldn’t fight.
The whole of Paris was spread beneath them like a glittering magic carpet, the air scented by the flowers that tumbled from the pots that turned the terrace into an exotic rooftop garden. As a setting, it couldn’t have been more romantic.
And she didn’t want romantic.
She’d seen what ‘romantic’ did to people and suddenly she was terrified. Why the hell had she kissed him? After that first time she should have known that it was dangerous—stupid. He’d made her feel something she’d never felt and didn’t want to feel.
‘OK, you’ve said sorry and that’s great—fine—now you can leave. Preferably right now because I can’t breathe properly when you’re standing this close.’ She lifted her hand to his chest and encountered hard muscle and a man who clearly wasn’t going to budge. ‘Seriously, Damon, let’s just forget the whole thing and—oh, God—’ The sudden pressure of his mouth on hers silenced the rest of her sentence and she moaned indistinctly as his tongue swept into her mouth, the erotic invasion sending her head into a crazy spin and her senses into freefall. Sexual excitement flashed through her, ignited by the skill of his kiss and the sure strength of his hands on her body.
‘Damon—’ She moaned his name as he cupped her breast with his hand, the rough pad of his thumb grazing over her nipple. ‘Honestly, we can’t—’ She gasped as he drew her against him and restraint and common sense melted in a warm puddle of molten desire. ‘Or maybe we can.’ Her arms were round his neck, pulling him down to her as he pulled her in. ‘Just tell me quickly—are you about to walk away again?’
‘No chance.’ His hands were sure and bold as they slid down her back. ‘Neither are you.’
‘Good, because if you stop this time I just might have to kill you.’
Her hands were inside his shirt, her fingers sliding slowly over warm male skin. His body was lean and muscled but that came as no surprise because she already knew he was strong. What surprised her was the complexity and depth, the emotions that flickered under the cool, controlled surface he presented to the world.
When she’d kissed him earlier, his guard had slipped. For a fleeting moment he’d lost his grip on that rigid control that characterised the way he lived his life. The fact that she was the one who’d slid under those defences intensified the excitement.
They kissed with a searing, primitive hunger that burned up logic and caution, their mouths greedy, seeking, hot as they feasted, lost in the burning fire of the moment. The world centred on the two of them. She was no longer aware of the city that stretched beneath her, or the warm whisper of the night breeze. All she was aware of was him—this man who kissed her as if he understood everything about who she was and what she needed.
She’d never understood how sex could drive people to make foolish decisions. Until now.
When he lifted her in an easy movement and carried her from her small terrace through to the master bedroom suite, she simply tightened her arms around his neck and kept on kissing him. Paris sparkled through the windows but neither of them spared the city a single glance.
As he lowered her gently to the centre of the enormous bed, she pushed his shirt off his shoulders and he shrugged it away. The swell of muscle in his shoulders bunched as he supported his weight and came down on top of her, the movement so innately masculine that her breath caught.
Even though part of her hated to admit it, the physical power of him was part of the attraction. Dark and handsome, he was unequivocally male, every touch and kiss assured and confident as he dragged her into a whole new world of dangerous desire.
As his warm, clever mouth trailed down her body Polly writhed against the silk sheets, her body gripped by such intense excitement that she couldn’t keep still. The need to move her hips was almost painful and she writhed and shifted until she felt his strong hands grasp her, holding her captive. Deprived of the only means of easing the burning ache between her thighs, she gave a murmur of protest—a murmur that turned to a gasp as he spread her thighs and used his mouth on her, the skilled flick of his tongue driving her into a frenzy of desperation. It was impossibly intimate but she didn’t even care, and she surrendered to the feeling, mindless to everything except the pleasure he created and controlled. The excitement built and spread until it exploded in a bright burst of light, her climax so extraordinarily intense that she couldn’t breathe.
As consciousness gradually seeped back into her spinning head she opened her eyes, but she had no time to recover before he moved up her body and kissed her. Sensation after sensation slammed into her and she wondered dimly how it was possible to want someone this much. It was a devouring hunger, a greed she’d never before imagined, and this time she took control as she pushed at his chest and rolled. She was aware that he was far too strong to be pushed anywhere he didn’t want to go but it was clear he was willing to play her game and he rolled onto his back, his eyes glittering dark as he watched her from under those thick black lashes.
As she kissed her way down his body she heard him groan and then mutter something in Greek, something she didn’t understand but which told her he was as carried away by the moment as she was. Relishing her own power, she slid her mouth over the velvet length of him, using her tongue and her lips to drive him wild until he groaned and lifted her towards him.
‘I want you. Now.’
In the grip of the same desperation, Polly moved up his body and straddled him. His need to be in control seemed to have left him and she positioned herself over him, her nerve-endings sizzling with awareness as she felt his swollen hardness brush against her. His eyes narrowed to two dangerous slits, he closed his hands around her hips and thrust upwards. Sure and confident, he drove into her and she gave a soft gasp at the feel of him as he surged deep. Just for a moment she thought He’s too big, but then he paused, his fingers biting into her flesh as he held her where he wanted her.
‘You’re incredibly tight. Relax, agape mou—’
She couldn’t relax. Her body was on fire, the power of his invasion momentarily shocking her out of the sexual trance that had held her in its grip.
His gaze sharpened and the beginnings of a frown touched his brow. ‘Theé mou, have you ever—?’
Polly cut his sentence off with her mouth, nibbling at his lips, stroking with her tongue, until the unspoken question turned into a kiss that blew away the unexpected tension. Shivering with longing, she lifted mouth from his so that she could look at him, her breathing rapid as she rocked her hips, taking him deep. This time as he surged into her he watched her, and that depth of connection increased the chemistry until she knew on some deep, subliminal level that this was so much more than just physical pleasure. It was the most erotic, intimate experience of her life. Sensation built and clawed at her until he drove them both over the edge and the explosion of ecstasy ripped through them both simultaneously. Wave after wave of it slammed into her until she collapsed against him, the only sound in the room the breath tearing at her throat.
She felt the pounding of his heart and then his arms tightened around her, his hand gently stroking the length of her spine. He didn’t speak, but she knew he was as shocked as she was.
Lying there in the circle of his arms, Polly felt a surge of raw terror.
Oh, God, what had she done?
Not the sex—although she’d shocked herself and very probably she’d shocked Damon, too. No, what really terrified her was the intensity of emotion that had accompanied the physical. The connection, the closeness—they were the things she’d spent her life avoiding.