She gave a tremulous smile and slid her arms round his neck. ‘You understand what I’m saying?’
‘No, but I’m willing to do anything you say,’ he growled, his tongue probing gently as he yanked her hard against him. ‘Let’s go to bed. Now. Before you think up some other crazy rule.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
THREE days later, Angelos lounged in his glass-fronted office in the villa, trying to concentrate on the page of figures in front of him, his normally razor-sharp mind as blunt as a spoon.
It was only three hours since he’d left Chantal lying in bed and all he wanted to do was return there and pick up where they’d left off. It didn’t matter how long he spent with her, he just wanted more. In fact his hunger had grown to the point where all he could think of was sex.
It was the first time in his life that he’d found a woman to be more absorbing than work. In fact, right at this moment, work seemed like nothing more than an irritating necessity—something to do while Chantal slept off the physical excesses of the night.
Witnessing her stunned reaction to her own sexuality had proved to be indescribably erotic. He’d discovered that there was something infinitely exciting about a passionate woman with absolutely no knowledge of the powers of her own body.
And that was the key to his current problem. She’d been a virgin, which made the whole experience a novelty, and she just adored sex, which doubled the excitement.
In the circumstances, it was hardly surprising that his mind wasn’t on his work.
Staring at the complex spreadsheet on the screen in front of him, he wondered whether to abandon the pretence of working and just indulge in a two week long marathon sex session, designed to cure his obsession with her.
Why not?
He didn’t believe in micro-management. He employed the very best and expected them to get on with the jobs they were being paid to do. Theoretically he should be able to take a break, if that was what he wanted.
And it was.
Given the choice, he would have been hauling her back to bed at every conceivable opportunity during the day. At coffee-time, at lunchtime, after every frustrating phone call—
But that wasn’t an option because she was never around during the day.
On the few occasions he’d prowled onto the terrace, intending to surprise her, he’d discovered that she’d left after breakfast and had no intention of returning until teatime. He felt vaguely irritated by the length of time she spent away from the vill
a each day. For a woman who claimed not to enjoy shopping, she spent a great deal of time—well, shopping. Or was she sightseeing?
Whichever—she certainly wasn’t lying by the pool dreaming of him and hoping for a midday rendezvous.
He frowned. Perhaps she thought she was doing him a favour by not distracting him from his work. Or possibly she was lonely. It was true that when his father wasn’t resting he was kept busy all day with physiotherapists, nurses and doctors.
Or was she playing a more complicated game altogether?
While it was true that she was very inexperienced, it was also true that she was a woman, with a woman’s instincts. Did she think that by staying out all day she would make him all the more desperate for her?
If so, then her plan was succeeding beyond her wildest dreams.
He was so desperate he was climbing the walls.
Remembering the erotic activities of the night before, Angelos decided that there was nothing going on in his working day that couldn’t be put off until tomorrow. He’d join her shopping or sightseeing or whatever it was she was doing, make it clear that by staying out all day she was not doing him a favour and then he’d bring her back to the villa for a relaxing swim and a siesta.
* * *
Chantal delivered a large lunch order to the group of English tourists who were sitting at the best table in the taverna. ‘Two moussaka, one souvlaki, one meatballs—’
It was impossibly hot, her feet ached, and she was exhausted after yet another night without sleep. She would have given anything to have spent the day sleeping by the pool.
Anything except her pride.
‘Large Greek salad.’ As she placed the plate in the centre of the table she heard the deep, throaty growl of a high performance sports car from somewhere behind her.
One of the men glanced towards the sound. ‘That’s my dream car,’ he muttered enviously, reaching for his beer. ‘When I have my mid-life crisis, I’m ditching my sensible family car and buying that piece of premium engineering.’