The Greek's Unknown Bride

She wanted him with a desperation she’d never experienced before. That recklessness that had sent her into the water rose up again and for a heady moment Sophy wondered if this was the real essence of herself that she’d repressed for so long, while she’d hidden in Sasha’s shadow?

She dislodged his hands and the towel fell off her shoulders. There was something very elemental about being naked in front of him like this. Apollo’s eyes flared bright green. His jaw clenched. ‘What are you doing?’

Sophy also realised in that moment that she desperately needed Apollo to make love to her. To Sophy. To know who he was making love to this time. To call out her name. Exorcise Sasha from their past.

She opened her mouth but then she went cold inside. She’d just imagined seeing his reaction to her. He didn’t want her any more. How could he after everything that had transpired? All her bravado leached away and she crossed her arms over her chest, looked for the towel. ‘I’m sorry... I know you can’t still want—’ She spied the towel and bent down to retrieve it but when she straightened up Apollo took it out of her hands and pulled them apart, baring her to his gaze again.

‘I can’t still want what?’

‘Me.’

‘Theos. If only I didn’t want you, my life would be infinitely simpler.’

He tugged her towards him and she stumbled slightly, landing against him, a sense of relief rising inside her. He took his hands off hers and cupped her face, tilting it up to his. Then he bent his head and covered her mouth with his in a kiss that was so explicit and carnal that Sophy lost all sense of time and place.

When he pulled back she felt dizzy, plastered against his body. She could feel the bulge of his arousal through the thin material of his shorts and put her hand down there, exploring tentatively.

He put his hand on hers. His voice was rough. ‘Stop, unless you want to make love right here, right now.’

She must have communicated her desperation silently because Apollo muttered something unintelligible and let her go briefly to pull down his own shorts and spread the towel on the sand.

He pulled her down alongside him on the towel, shielding her from the rough sand with his body. His hands stroked along every curve of her body, sending her into a frenzy of need. Big hands cupped her buttocks, squeezing, kneading. Her hands moved over the wide muscled plane of his chest, mouth seeking and finding the blunt nub of his nipple, hearing his sucked-in breath when she explored with her tongue and teeth.

He put a hand in her hair, tugging her head back gently. Her vision was blurry.

‘Sophy... I want you, now.’

Hearing her name on his lips made her feel absurdly emotional. She ducked her head into his neck. ‘I want you too...’

He moved her over his body so that her legs were astride his hips. The centre of her body was embarrassingly hot and damp, but before she could dwell on that her entire being suffused with pleasure when she felt the head of Apollo’s erection nudge against where she was so hot and needy.

He looked at her. ‘Okay?’

She nodded. He notched the head inside her and she sucked in a breath. He put his hands on her hips. His expression was strained. ‘Move up, and back.’

She bit her lip, every part of her being f

ocused on doing as he asked. She came up and felt him under her, power barely leashed...and sank down, taking him inside her. It was the most exquisite agony she’d ever experienced as she felt herself stretch to accommodate his hard length.

She moved experimentally, up and down. Apollo’s hands were on her hips, but not controlling her movements, letting her take the lead. It was heady.

A rhythm slowly built and built until Sophy couldn’t control it any more. Apollo held her hips then, showing her how much restraint he’d exercised as he pumped powerfully up and into her body. She couldn’t stay upright as she convulsed with pleasure, curving over him as he followed her over the edge and into an ocean of total and utter sated bliss.

As the after-shocks pulsed through their entwined limbs, neither one of them was aware of the incoming water lapping around their heated bodies.

Apollo hadn’t intended to make love to Sophy. He’d intended to bring her to the island and put some distance between them. Giving himself time to assimilate everything. Absorb the reality that she was who she was. A different person. The same person.

And for about twenty-four hours it had worked out that way. He’d kept his distance—gone to the site, stayed in his study.

But then, this afternoon, he’d seen her far below on the beach. He’d seen her taking her clothes off, her pale body gleaming like a pearl against the azure sky and ocean, like some ethereal being. Not human.

Then she’d looked around, taken her underwear off. Stepped gingerly into the water. Then she’d waded further in, ducking under the waves. Apollo had felt like he was intruding on a very private moment and then he’d realised she was in danger of getting out of her depth. And that she couldn’t swim.

When he’d reached her his insides had been in a knot and he’d hauled her up out of the water, her slim body far too light and puny against the might of the sea. He’d been angry.

Scared.

He’d also noticed that her eyes were red and he didn’t think it was from the water. She’d been crying. Mourning.