The Greek's Secret Son

He caught her face between his hands. ‘Tia—I want you very, very much, but—’

But there’s more than one bedroom in this apartment and we have to be in separate bedrooms tonight—we just have to be! Because anything else would be...would be...

Her face had lit like a beacon again. ‘Please...please!’ she begged. Her face worked. ‘This whole evening with you has been incredible! Fantastic! Wonderful! And now...with you...it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced in all my life! You are like no one I’ve ever met! I’ll never meet anyone else like you again, and this...all this...’

She gestured at the room, softly lit with table lamps, at the candles still on the dining table, the empty bottle of champagne, the glow of the lights on the terrace beyond.

‘All this will never happen to me again!’ She bit her lip, mouth quivering. ‘I want this so much,’ she said huskily, her eyes pleading with him, her hand fastening on his strong arm as if she might draw him back to her again. ‘Please,’ she begged again. ‘Please don’t turn me away—please!’

And yet again Anatole lost it.

Unable to resist what he did not want to resist, what he could not bear to resist, he swept her back up to him, his mouth descending to taste again the honeyed sweetness of her mouth which opened to his instantly, eagerly...hungrily.

She wants this—she wants this as much as I do. And, however briefly we have known each other, my desire for her is overpowering. And so is hers for me. And because of that...

Because of that, with a rasp deep in his throat, he hefted to his feet, holding her in his arms, his hand sweeping under her knees to cradle her against him as he carried her away.

Away not to the guest room but to his own master suite, where he ripped back the bedcovers to lay her gently upon cool sheets. She was gazing up at him, blindness in her eyes, her pupils flared, lips bee-stung, breasts straining against the moulding of the cotton tee.

He wanted it gone. Wanted all her clothes gone, and all his—wanted no barriers between himself and this lovely woman he wanted now...right now...

CHAPTER THREE (#u82562fda-1392-538f-9c00-0681d4d2a17c)

TIA GAZED UP at him—at this incredible, unbearably devastating man—her mind in whiteout. Her body seemed to be on fire, with a soft, velvet flame, glowing with a sensual awareness that was possessing her utterly. She reached her arms up to him, yearning for him, beseeching him to take her back in his arms, to kiss and caress her, to sweep her off into the gorgeous bliss of his touch, his desire for her.

He was stripping off his clothes and she could feel her eyes widen as his shirt revealed the smooth, taut contours of his chest. And then his fingers were at his belt, snaking it free...

She gave a little cry, turning her head into the pillow, suddenly desperately shy. She had never dreamt that a man like this would ever be real in her life, and he was suddenly only too real.

Then she felt the mattress dip, felt his weight coming down beside her, heard him murmur soft words, urgent words, seductive, irresistible...and then his hand was curving her face back towards his, and he was so close to her, so very close, and in his eyes was a light she had never seen in a man’s eyes before. She’d never seen a man’s eyes so filled with blazing, burning fire...

I can’t stop this—I can’t stop it—and I don’t want to! Oh, I don’t want to!

She wanted it to happen, wanted what would happen now—what must happen now—wanted it with all her being, yearned and longed for it. It had come out of nowhere—just as the whole encounter with this amazing, fabulous man had come out of nowhere.

And I can’t say no to it. I can’t and I don’t want to. I want to say yes—only yes...

Her eyes fluttered closed and she felt his mouth feather-light on hers, like swansdown. She felt his hands move to her waist, lift the material of her tee shirt from her, easing it over her head with hardly a pause in his sweet kissing. She felt his hands—warm, strong, skilled—slide around her back, unfasten her bra and slip it from her, discarding it somewhere. She knew not where and she did not care—did not care at all except that now he was doing the same with her skirt, skimming it from her, and then... Oh, then he was easing her panties from her quickening thighs.

He lifted himself from her, one hand splaying into her hair as it spread in tumbling golden curls across the pillow. His eyes burned into hers. ‘You are so, so beautiful,’ he said. ‘So beautiful...’

She could say nothing, could only gaze upwards, hearing her mind echoing his words... He was beautiful! He with his sable hair and his sculpted cheekbones, with eyes you could drown in. His hard, lean body that her hands were now lifting themselves to of their own accord.

Her fingertips traced every line, every contour of the smooth, honed muscles. He seemed to shudder and she felt his muscles clench, as if what she was doing was unbearable, and then his mouth descended again.

Hungry...oh, so hungry.

And there was a hunger in her too. A ravening hunger that was as instinctive, as overpowering, as her need to be held and kissed and caressed by this most blissfully seductive of men. It was making her body arch to his, the blood rush like a torrent in her veins, drowning her senses, turning her into living flame. Never had she imagined that passion could feel like this! Never had her daydreams known what it was to be like this, in the arms of a man filled with urgent desire.

And she desired him.

She clung to him, not knowing what she was doing, only that it was what she burned to do. Her body arched to his, her thighs parting. She heard him say something but was lost to all coherence.

He seemed to pause, pull away from her, and it was unbearable not to have his warm, strong body over hers. And then, with a rush of relief, she felt him there again, kissing her again, his hands urgent, every muscle in his body tautening. She felt his body ease between hers, felt his hips move against hers, felt—

Pain! A sudden, piercing stab of pain!

She cried out, freezing, and he froze too. He gazed down at her, his eyes blind, then clearing into vision. Words escaped him. He was shocked.

He lifted from her and the pain vanished. Her hands reached for him, her head lifting blindly to catch his mouth again. But he was still withdrawn from her.

‘I didn’t know—I didn’t realise—’ The words fell from him. Shocked. Abrupt.

She could only gaze up at him. Devastation was flooding through her.

‘Don’t you want me?’ It was all that was in her head now—the devastation of his rejection before.

‘Tia...’ He said her name again. ‘I didn’t realise that I would be the first man for you—’

Her hands pressed into his bare shoulders. ‘I want you to be! Only you! Please—oh, please!’

Conflict seared in him. He burned for her, and yet—

But she was pressing her body against his, crushing her breasts against the wall of his chest. Lifting her hips to his in an age-old invitation of woman to man, to possess and be possessed.

‘Please...’ she said, her voice a low husk, a plea. ‘Please—I want this so much—I want you so much.’

Her hand slid around the base of his skull, pressing against it, drawing his head down. She reached up with her mouth, feeling as her lips touched his a relief go through her that sated all her ardent yearning, all her desperate desire.

She opened his mouth under hers and Anatole, with a low, helpless groan, abandoned all his inner conflict, let himself yield to what he so wanted to do...to make her his.

* * *

It was morning. The undrawn curtains were letting in the light of dawn. Drowsily, wonderingly, Tia lay in Anatole’s arms. There had been no more pain, and he had been as gentle with her as if she were made of porcelain—though the soft tenderness of her body now proclaimed that she was flesh and blood. But there was only a fading ache now, and in the cocoon of his strong arms it mattered not at all.

His arm was beneath her shoulder, her head lax upon it, and she smiled up at him, bemused, enchanted. His dark eyes were moving over her face, his other hand smoothing the tendrils of her silken hair from her cheeks. He was smiling back at her—a smile of intimacy, endearment. It made her feel weak with longing.

Bliss enveloped her, and a wonder so great that she could scarcely dare to believe that it was true, what had happened.

‘Do you have to return to work?’ Anatole was asking her.

She frowned a little, not understanding. ‘The agency will open again at nine,’ she said.

Anatole shook her head. ‘I mean, do you have to take up another position? Are you booked to be a carer for someone else?’

Her frown deepened. She was understanding even less.

He smoothed her silken hair again, his eyes searching her face. ‘I don’t want you to go,’ he said to her. ‘I want you to stay with me.’