The Virgin's Secret

Leo had just replied with silken emphasis, ‘Which is exactly what I’m doing. My father, above all things, is a strategist. If he knew for a second what you’d done, what a threat you are, he would endorse my methods wholeheartedly.’

Angel had still felt miserable to think of how his father might be feeling, and had been reminded again that whenever Leo spoke of him it was clear that little love was lost.

And then Leo had asked casually, ‘Have you spoken to your father yet?’

Angel had blanched and shaken her head. She knew from Delphi that her father was home and in a near constant state of violent inebriation, cursing her volubly. His trip to London had been spectacularly unsuccessful. Angel knew a lot of his bluster was just that. And she wasn’t scared for Delphi’s safety. Her father had only ever lashed out at her, Angel, with his fists, in those moments when she reminded him too much of her mother.

She’d shaken her head again. ‘No, we haven’t spoken.’ Angel sent up a silent prayer. At least when Delphi was married she’d be moving in with Stavros and Angel would be free to live elsewhere. And

lick her wounds from the fall-out of her association with Leo.

Leo had looked suspicious. Angel had done her best to ignore him.

Now, Angel sighed as she looked in the full-length mirror of her dressing room. She was tired. And she had to admit that she was still shell-shocked. She felt as though from the moment she’d met Leo again, that fateful night in the study, she’d not had a chance to draw breath.

He consumed her utterly. In the nights he taught her body how it could respond so powerfully to his; but she was still shy, still mortified at her reaction to him. And her days were filled with vivid flashbacks to moments that took her breath away, making her body heat up and melt all over again.

She quite literally could not remember what it had been like not to know this man, not to know his hard features, the faint line of the scar above his mouth which still tantalised her.

She tried to clear her mind of him and twisted in front of the mirror. The dress she wore was the most daring one yet. It was strapless and mostly gold, ending a few inches above her knees, where the gold tapered off into silver. Her waist was cinched in with a gold belt, and gold hoop earrings and strappy sandals completed the outfit.

Something defiant had made her pick it out of the myriad clothes that now filled the walk-in closet, along with a glittering array of stunning jewellery. When she’d seen the jewellery her heart had twisted. How she longed to make her own again. She’d always found the designs of others too garish for her tastes, preferring delicate chains and subtle designs. Like Lucy’s butterfly necklace.

She heard a sound, and whirled around to see Leo, leaning nonchalantly against her door, already dressed and ready to go. She felt vulnerable at having been observed. This was how it seemed to be going. He’d be gone every day to work when she awoke, her body heavy after the rigours of a long night of lovemaking. Then he’d come home and get ready, only coming to fetch her when she too was ready. Minimal conversation. Minimal emotional involvement.

She’d noticed Leo tensing beside her last night, at an art gallery opening, when a couple had started a passionate and very public row. When Angel had glanced up at him in response to his hand tightening on hers, she’d been surprised to see him looking slightly mesmerised, and yet grey underneath his tan. Eventually he’d turned from the scene, with disgust etched all over his face. Angel hadn’t been able to understand his reaction; it had seemed totally disproportionate to what was really just a domestic fight.

She found that the memory and the concern she’d felt now made her feel even more vulnerable. She didn’t care about what made Leo tick. She only cared that he was facilitating her sister’s happiness.

She drew on all the confidence she could and put a hand on her hip, cocking her head. ‘Well? Is it suitably mistressy for you?’

Leo’s jaw clenched, and Angel’s belly quivered.

‘Don’t push me, Angel.’ His eyes dropped then insultingly, lingering and assessing. He looked at her again, and all her bravado had melted.

He just said cuttingly, ‘Yes, it’s perfect. Exactly the kind of thing the press will be expecting you to wear. Let’s go.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

IN THE car on the way down to Athens, Leo fought back waves of anger and irritation. The sight of Angel’s smooth thighs out of the corner of his eye was nearly too much.

When he’d first seen her in the dress he’d wanted to march in and rip it off her. To find something much more suitable, something that might cover her from head to toe. To his utter shock and ignominy, it had only been when she’d turned around and been so provocatively cocky that he’d realised his desire to change it stemmed from somewhere very ambiguous.

He’d suddenly been uncomfortable with the idea of her going out and looking so obviously like his mistress. When that was exactly what he wanted. The fact that he’d had to remind himself of that fact struck hard now. Also, more worryingly, sleeping with Angel for the past week had done nothing to diminish her effect on him. Every time he slept with her, thrust into her lissom body, his desire increased exponentially. He’d also been growing acutely aware of the attention Angel garnered from other men, attention she appeared not to notice, but he didn’t trust her for a second.

He was embarking on a new path, taking up residence in his ancestral home, not to mention taking control of a multi-million-dollar organisation while keeping track of his own business concerns in New York. He had a million and two things to occupy his time and energy, not least of which was being vigilant and mindful of the vulnerabilities of his company in its time of transition.

He couldn’t help feeling, with the space that Angel took up in his every waking moment, that he was being incredibly stupid. Willingly taking his enemy into his bed, where she was fast proving to have more control over him than he cared to admit.

The only way Leo knew to counter these doubts was to exert his own control, and right now he only wanted control of one thing: Angel. With a growl he ordered the driver to put up the privacy partition, and turned to reach for Angel in the exact moment that she turned to him with a question in her eyes.

The minute she saw him a delicate flush bloomed in her cheeks. He saw her eyes dilate and, without speaking a word, he pulled her over to straddle his lap. He pushed her short dress up over her thighs so that her legs could move more freely.

Leo gripped her waist then, moving her strategically, so that she could feel where he ached most. He was rewarded with a gasp, but Angel’s eyes were curiously unemotional, as if she had locked herself away somewhere. To his utter consternation Leo found that thought repulsive. How dared she try and hide herself from him? She was his—mind, body and soul.

What ensued was a battle of wills more than an act of lovemaking, although it was that too. Explosively, with ruthless intent, Leo drew down his zip and pulled Angel’s panties aside, and surged up into her moist heat.

He wouldn’t let her look away. Every time she turned her face he ruthlessly brought it back. She closed her eyes, but he ground out, ‘Open your eyes, Angel, look at me.’