Won by the Wealthy Greek: The Greek's Seven-Day Seduction / Constantinou's Mistress / The Greek Doctor's Rescue

‘You greedy girl,’ he murmured softly when it was all over. ‘Did I give you permission for that?’

His voice was low and teasing, and he felt so strong, so wonderful against her. She never wanted him to let her go, never wanted the moment to end. And the way he was looking at her—his gaze penetrating, warm and amused—she wanted that look to last for ever. ‘I’m sorry, I—’

He cut her off with his finger again and made the same soft sound as he let her go. ‘Where’s the shampoo?’ he said, looking around.

‘Shampoo?’ Charlotte mumbled, still mesmerised, still lost in the aftermath of sensation.

‘The shampoo,’ Iannis repeated. ‘In here?’ he enquired, opening a cupboard on the wall.

Charlotte managed to whisper, ‘Yes,’ her gaze following Iannis, drinking him in, relishing the sight of him.

‘Conditioner?’

‘Conditioner?’ A croak seemed to emerge from her throat of its own accord.

‘Yes—you know,’ Iannis said wryly. He ruffled his own hair, then, seeing the state she was in—how reluctant to emerge from the erotic trance into which he had placed her—he raised his shoulders in a shrug and shook his head.

‘Shower,’ she managed to whisper.

Iannis checked, and then came back to her.

‘I hope you have a good water tank or we’ll be taking a cold shower,’ he observed dryly.

The water was still running, Charlotte realised, coming to. ‘Oh, no!’

‘No matter,’ Iannis said. ‘We have more than enough heat between us, and to spare. Come,’ he said, beckoning to her. ‘Come to me, Charlotte.’

Charlotte raised her arms for him and Iannis eased her top over her head. The old swimming costume felt tight across her straining breasts. She had never seen her nipples so erect.

‘Magnificent,’ Iannis remarked, following her gaze. With both his hands he very lightly cupped her breasts, and with an even lighter touch scraped his thumbnails very slowly around the base of the insistent peaks before taking them in a firm grip through the worn fabric and tugging on them.

Charlotte gasped and threw back her head as the pleasure lapped over her, but Iannis removed his hands immediately.

‘Not again,’ he warned. ‘I won’t allow you to lose control again.’

As he dropped a kiss on her shoulder Charlotte felt his beard-roughened face scrape against her tender neck and shuddered with delight. Then she felt him nudging her a little, and realised that he had already loosened her shorts and pushed them down over the swell of her hips.

Tilting her chin up, he made her look at him. Very lightly he touched her lips with his tongue… teasing her, Charlotte realised, when he stopped and held her away from him. It made her long all the more to press against him, to feel his erection pressed hard against the cushion of her belly.

Were her eyes as dark as his? They seemed to control her without the need for words. She lost herself willingly in the deep black pools of light, groaning in response when he slipped the straps of her costume down from her shoulders and then, with torturous delay, brought it down inch by lingering inch over her sensitised body.

It was like unpeeling the most delicious, the most succulent fruit, Iannis mused, freeing Charlotte from the shabby costume. Her shoulders were sun-kissed and her arms felt like silk. And her breasts—He stopped, unwilling to draw the costume lower until he had feasted his eyes on them. They were full and proud, the nipples tip-tilted in a way he had rarely seen. They seemed to challenge him in a way he had never experienced before. Revenge was sweet, indeed, he conceded, feeling his senses soar as he dipped his head to kiss her again. But as he deepened the kiss, making it slow and languorous, he knew his lust for revenge had subsided. The urge to bring her pleasure had overtaken everything else.

‘Come,’ he murmured, ‘it is time for me to serve you now.’

Was this what love felt like? Charlotte wondered. Iannis was a magical lover—she didn’t want to think beyond that; she only wanted him to take her on an erotic journey where there were no secrets, no holding back.

He led her under the shower and washed her hair, and when he had finished with that he took the sponge and gently washed every inch of her body.

‘Can I wash you now?’ Charlotte said when he had finished.

He looked at her, saw how her eyelashes were long and thick and clogged with water. The look she was giving him was so open—cunningly contrived to put him off guard? But he didn’t want to believe that. He wanted one night—one night of love before he must confront the reality of her betrayal. Was that so much to ask? Iannis wondered, feeling his senses soar as he stared into her eyes.

‘Soon,’ he murmured, kissing Charlotte’s eyelids gently when she begged him again.

But she took the sponge from his hand and refused to give it back to him. ‘I won’t be denied.’

‘I can see that,’ he murmured, dropping a kiss on her neck.

He had a body the mythical gods would have envied, Charlotte mused as she lavished care over every toned, tanned inch. Iannis possessed a frame of heroic proportions; his muscles were hard and clearly defined. Yet he wasn’t over-built, and nor was he weatherbeaten, as she might have supposed him to be due to his work. He was perfectly proportioned, deliciously bronzed, and with just enough body hair to draw attention to his masculinity without concealing it…

‘Seen enough?’

She looked up as he growled softly.

‘I’m not sure I will ever see enough,’ she admitted, wielding the sponge with growing confidence.

He put his arms around her, keeping her still. ‘I think we’d better stop now,’ he murmured, and she felt his warm breath on her head.

‘Are you sure?’ Charlotte whispered, staring up at him.

‘Quite sure,’ Iannis confirmed, taking the sponge out of her hand. ‘Now, shall I have to seduce you all over again?’ he suggested, kissing the top of her head.

‘Oh, I think so,’ Charlotte murmured happily, snuggling into him.

He wrapped her from head to foot in towels so that she could hardly move, and then swept her into his arms and carried her through to the bedroom. Laying her down on the soft pile of cushions, Iannis stretched out next to her. ‘Shall I unwrap you?’ he suggested wickedly, running one hand very lightly and tantalisingly down the length of her towel-covered form.

Please, Charlotte thought, seeing his eyes were bright with humour. ‘Am I a gift?’ she challenged provocatively.

Iannis frowned briefly—just a shadow, then it passed. But that look set a doubt in Charlotte’s mind. She sensed he had pulled away from her in some way she couldn’t grasp. But then he began kissing her, and her senses took over, and nothing mattered other than how much she wanted him, how much he had come to mean to her—however dangerous that was—and how soon she had to leave…

‘Crying?’ Iannis murmured, pulling away to stare into her face. ‘What’s this, Charlotte?’

Her name sounded so soft and tender on his lips—she should have been called something harsh-sounding to reflect her duplicity, Charlotte thought, stemming her tears by sheer force of will. At that moment she wished she had never embarked upon the article, never heard of Iskos, never visited the island—but then she would never have met Iannis, she realised, gazing up at him in confusion.

‘Make love to me, Iannis,’ she whispered. ‘Make love to me so that I forget everything.’

Iannis felt himself sucked deep into a vortex of emotion which he didn’t care to analyse. He only knew that he wanted to kiss all the tears from her cheeks and make her smile again. They tasted salty on his tongue, and the scent of a wildflower rocked his senses as he buried his face into her soft neck and kissed her there. As she moved beneath him and her arms wound around his neck, he returned to kiss her mouth, deepening the kiss until he thought he must surely taste her soul.

Charlotte gave herself completely, yielding to sensation, knowing she was in the hands of a master, trusting and loving and giving until all the doubts and questions in her mind were obliterated in a constant stream of sensation.

Iannis kept on kissing her until she was all hunger, all passion, all need, and then he brought her beneath him, using one strong hand to ease her buttocks apart while he lodged a powerful thigh between her legs. He brought her legs up and over his shoulders until she was completely open, completely his. And even then he made her wait, allowing just a whisper of his erection to tantalise her senses, drawing it slowly and steadily down between her legs.

When she begged him he only shook his head in stern refusal, dropping kisses on her mouth to still her cries. But Charlotte called his name until finally he submitted to her will and allowed the tip to catch inside her. When he pulled away again she railed at him, not caring what he must think of her as she berated him with words she hardly recognised.

‘What is it you want Charlotte?’ Iannis demanded softly, cruelly repeating the exercise, holding her with a firm hand when she attempted to capture him. ‘You must wait…you must learn control,’ he husked in her ear. ‘You proved yourself ignorant in the ways of love before, and now you must be taught. You will thank me for teaching you restraint…’

‘No. I. Won’t!’ Charlotte managed hoarsely. ‘I don’t have time to learn!’