The Santorini Bride

And stupid fool that he was, Theo had agreed.

He could have suggested she help with clearing the table or doing the dishes. He could have not dismissed Agnetta’s vague offer to help. He could have helped himself! Martha thought, banging the cupboard shut.

But he hadn’t.

He’d said, “Sure we can go up to the roof. We’ll just get out of your way, then,” he’d added with a mere glance in Martha’s direction.

So were they getting it on up there? Martha banged the cupboard shut again for good measure. Jerk!

Well, the hell with him. Let him have his way with Agnetta—or let her have her way with him. There was no way she was going up on the roof and defending his honor!

If he ended up in bed with Agnetta, that was his problem! Although he needn’t think he was going to bring Agnetta to bed as long as Martha was there, too!

And he needn’t think if he succumbed to temptation he was going to be able to throw her out on her ear because he didn’t need her anymore, either. Martha was damned if she was leaving. So there.

Now she yawned widely and flexed her shoulders, still feeling the kinks of her trans-Atlantic flight. She wanted a shower and a good night’s sleep. The nap she’d had while Theo was out sailing had been interrupted far too soon by Agnetta and Cassie turning up on the doorstep.

For a few seconds she looked longingly up the stairs toward her former bedroom. But that was where Theo had deliberately put Cassie and Agnetta’s suitcases. At the same time Martha’s own duffel bag had disappeared. It was in Theo’s bedroom where he had put it while she’d been making dinner.

There was a bathroom in that suite of rooms. She could take a shower there. Chances were she would be sound asleep by the time he came down with Agnetta. If he came down.

Maybe they’d spend the night on the roof, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Martha shot a disparaging glance toward the stairs that went to the roof, then stalked into Theo’s bedroom. “Have fun,” she muttered under her breath.

Like Theo’s bedroom, the bathroom held no trace of her parents’ former occupancy, either. The tiles on the vanity were still the small obsidian squares she remembered, but the pink walls her mother had favored were long gone. The rest of the room was stark white and unadorned, except for the towels, which looked new and were a deep sea blue. Martha rubbed an approving hand over one of them, looking forward to wrapping her body in it after her shower, then turned on the water to warm while she stripped off her clothes and let them fall on the floor.

The naked body she saw in the mirror was nowhere near as toned and polished as the one she was sure that Agnetta was flaunting for Theo’s enjoyment at this very moment. Martha’s hips were wider, her breasts were fuller. She didn’t wear a size four like Agnetta and Cassie. Or even a size six. Or eight, which was probably about the size of the woman who had been sharing the shower with Julian.

And damn it, she didn’t want to think about that.

Abruptly she turned away from contemplating her shortcomings in the mirror and drew back the shower curtain and stepped in.

A spray of warm water welcomed her. Accustomed to the uneven spurt and trickle of the shower upstairs, she was startled. A closer look told her that the showerhead was new—obviously another of Theo’s improvements.

She would have to tell him she approved, though she doubted if he would care. No matter. Enjoying the shower for the sheer pleasure of it, Martha ducked her head under the soft warm spray, then stood perfectly still, letting the water cascade over her.

For the first time in twenty-four hours—ever since she’d walked into Julian’s and saw her dreams shot down in flames—she began to feel the tension seep out of her. She rolled her shoulders to loosen them and felt relief as her muscles eased and loosened. She let out a breath that seemed as if she’d been holding it for hours. Then she plucked the soap from the windowsill at eye level and began to wash.

She moved quickly at first because experience told her that, however new the showerhead was, there was never enough hot water. But even as she expected the stream to cool, it remained steady and strong and warm.

She washed her hair and rinsed it, and still the water stayed warm. Theo must have had a new hot water heater put in, too. She shut her eyes and smiled blissfully, wondering how long she could stand here just basking in the soothing warmth of the spray. But just as she wondered, there was a sudden slight coolness, a faint stirring of the air.

Ah well, all good things had to come to an end. Reluctantly Martha reached out to turn off the water.

“Not yet.”

She yelped and spun around, slipping on the porcelain as she found herself staring into the black eyes of a very tanned, very male, very naked Theo Savas!

Smiling, he caught her and steadied her on her jellylike knees.

“W-what are you doing here?” She was shivering, but not with cold. In truth she was growing hotter by the second—and grew even hotter as Theo stepped into the shower with her.

“I thought we could get a start on that mind-blowing sex.” His voice was husky, and white teeth flashed in a quick grin. But beyond the grin there was something dark and intense in his eyes.

Martha swallowed. Her heart hammered a thousand miles a minute. “Uh,” she said. “I, uh…ahhhh.” The vowels changed as Theo splayed his hands on her hips.

For an instant in her mind’s eye Martha remembered Julian’s hands on the woman in his shower. The memory gave her a kick right where she needed it most.

She took a deep steadying breath, and managed a determinedly sultry smile of her own, then lifted her hands and splayed them on Theo Savas’s hard chest, as she tried to ignore the hammering of her heart against her own. “Why not?”

She expected to remain detached, to study, to make mental notes on the world’s sexiest sailor’s powers of seduction. She expected to analyze, to scrutinize, to evaluate and assess the experience the way she did when she studied someone else’s painting.

It was how you learned, after all.

You didn’t get swept away.

You certainly didn’t moan at the feel of Theo’s soap-slick hands sliding up your sides, caressing your back. And you definitely didn’t tremble as they traced and drew circles, then dipped and slipped down over your backside and all the way down your legs!

Dear heavens! What was he doing to her?

Martha tried to memorize the technique, but within moments she was lost in the slippery pressure of his fingers working their magic. She was enchanted by the brush of his hair against her thighs as he knelt in front of her, carefully washing each foot in turn.

“Theeeeeo.” His name hissed through her teeth.

“Shh. Just feel,” he murmured. Then slowly and sensuously, his fingers began to work their way back up her legs, stopping to swirl against the sensitive skin at the back of her knees, then moving higher, stroking the insides of her thighs. She trembled as they inched their way up and still farther up.

If she bent her head, she could look down on the top of his, could watch as he moved closer, could feel the heat of his lips against her abdomen—and lower.

Oh, help, yes, lower. Even as his fingers moved higher.

“Oh!” Martha couldn’t stop the exclamation escaping the moment Theo’s fingers found her, touched her at last. She jerked. Her legs wobbled, not even jelly now. More like water. Desperately she reached out for something to hang on to, some way to stay upright—and found herself clutching his shoulders.

He tipped his head back to look up at her, a slight smile on his face, but his heavy-lidded gaze still intent, watching her.

Once more his fingers moved, caressed, teased and tested.

Martha trembled and shifted her feet, gave him greater access. Couldn’t help it. Couldn’t get enough of his touch. She bit her lip, tried to stay still, but her body had other ideas. It responded to Theo’s ministrations. And even when she did manage to get two or three brain cells and a bit of resolve in working order long enough to protest, “But you—” he cut her off.

“Mind-blowing,” he muttered, rising to his feet and covering her mouth with his. He made it sound like a challenge he was determined to meet, a standard he was obliged to reach.

He reached it. With room to spare.

Mind-blowing didn’t begin to cover the sensations he was evoking in her with his hands and his mouth. The word was too tame, too narrow. Too—

Suddenly Martha had no words at all.

The sensations were too strong, the pleasure too great, the need too intense. Martha’s fingernails bit into his hips as she shattered—and shuddered—and sagged against him, spent.