Latin Lovers: Greek Tycoons: Aristides' Convenient Wife / Bought: One Island, One Bride / The Lazaridis Marriage

Incredibly Helen had still been a virgin. His wife a virgin and, along with an overwhelming need to possess her completely, he was aware of a shockingly basic feeling of primitive male posession. She was his and only his. Using all his considerable experience, he stroked and caressed her. His tongue searched the moist interior of her mouth with a sensuality that reflected what he ached to do with her body. Knowing he had to give her time to accept him.

‘No, don’t,’ she moaned.

‘Shh, Helen,’ he husked softly against her mouth, his hand stroking up her trembling body to cup one lush breast. ‘I promise seconds from now you will be begging me to continue.’ He ran the tip of his tongue slowly around the outline of her mouth before seeking again the hot sweet passion within, while his agile fingers teased the tip of her breast.

A moment later Helen realised Leon was right. Miraculously the pain subsided and a quiver of renewed pleasure lanced through her as he continued to kiss and caress her. With a subtle thrust of his hips he moved in her, slowly stretching and accustoming her to his thick fullness, arousing her with ever-lengthening strokes.

Helen was quickly oblivious to everything except the strength, the power of him filling her, driving her inexorably once more to that torturous brink of ecstasy she could only imagine. She clung to him as though he were her world. Then with one deep, powerful thrust he sent her over the edge, her body convulsing around him in a tidal wave of earth-shattering mindless delight. She cried out his name, her legs locking fiercely around his waist, never wanting to let him go, never wanting the cataclysmic feeling to stop. She felt him tauten and heard his answering cry as his great body shuddered violently with the powerful force of his own orgasm.

His weight pinned her to the bed, but it was a weight Helen relished as the tempestuous waves of their loving gradually subsided, bringing her quivering body down to a state of languorous fulfilment.

She gazed up at her lover—her husband—utterly awestruck. Nothing she had experienced, or imagined, in her life had come close to the intense, raw emotion he had aroused, the overwhelming power of his possession.

‘Leon, I never knew, never imagined,’ she murmured, ‘making love could be so intense, so mind-blowing—pure magic.’ She smiled a slow soft curl of her lips and reached out a finger to trace the outline of his mouth.

‘Leon,’ she husked softly. ‘Leon.’ From never calling him by name if she could help it, now she wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

His name on her lips was a sensual invitation but, mindful of her recently lost innocence, one Leon knew he should not accept. But amazingly his body was telling him otherwise, and abruptly he rolled off her.

‘Helen,’ he responded with humorous indulgence, and, leaning up on one elbow, he surveyed his beautiful wife’s slender body, her tousled mass of silken hair, and soft, swollen-mouthed, blissful smile.

God! She was good—better than good, amazing. How he could have thought she was not his type was unfathomable to him now. She was everything a woman should be and the urge to kiss her lush lips and start all over again was incredibly instant.

Accustomed to sophisticated women who knew the score and to whom having sex was not much more than a pleasurable workout, he found it a novel experience to see genuine wonder in her huge violet eyes, and Leon almost succumbed. In all his thirty-nine years he had never known a woman like her, an innocent and a sensualist rolled into one. Then cynically he reminded himself she might be innocent in the sexual stakes, but in every other way she was as cunning as the rest of her sex.

Still, it was a terrific ego trip to know he was her first, and with that in mind his conscience told him he needed to give her time to recover, though his body was telling him otherwise. His dark eyes narrowed speculatively on her lovely face. She was made for sex, as of today she was his, and there would be plenty of other times.

With that happy thought uppermost in his mind he told her, ‘You are now my wife.’ A smile of sheer masculine satisfaction glinted in his dark eyes. ‘You are also full of surprises. Who would have imagined a sexy little lady like you, still a virgin?’ He shook his head in amused amazement, and slid off the bed to stand looking down at her. ‘I’m flattered you enjoyed your first taste of sex, Helen, and I must confess I am delighted to discover you have a remarkable natural aptitude for the act.’ And, turning, he headed for the bathroom before he lost control and succumbed to the temptation she offered and joined her in bed again.

He disposed of the condom and washed his hands. Another bonus with Helen, he thought complacently, after years of protection, he need never use another condom as he introduced her to every aspect of sex. His big body tightened at the prospect. He glanced into the mirror above the basin and rubbed his hand against his cheek, her skin was as soft as silk, and he could do with another shave. A wry grin twisted his mobile mouth. Not tonight, though—a rough chin might help him control his basic urges in consideration of his very new wife. He had a lifetime to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh with Helen, and surprisingly the idea of being tied to one woman for years did not faze him at all.

Helen’s dreamy gaze followed his retreating form as he headed for the bathroom, all long, lithe, muscular male. Her eyes widened in disbelief as the scratches on his back and tight buttocks finally registered in her love-hazed mind. Had she done that? Oh, God, yes. What had possessed her?

Leon, her convenient husband.

His departing words replayed in her head, and she came down to earth with a thump.

He hadn’t sounded very flattered, and ‘enjoyed your first taste of sex’ was not how Helen would have described the act. The very word ‘act’ offended her sensibilities, and in that moment with sickening clarity she realised what an idiot she had been. The most emotional, momentous experience in her life had meant little to Leon. It had been just that, an act on his part. A way to ensure the absolute legality of their marriage, he had told her so.

For a while she had allowed herself to forget he was a hard, cynical banker, a man who controlled vast amounts of money, a man born to take account of every eventuality to control everything, Nicholas and herself included.

She cringed at her own naivety, at her own wholehearted surrender to the man. His reference to her natural ability filled her with shame and humiliation. How could she have responded to him so shockingly?

The answer was in every pore of her body, the swollen fullness of her lips and in the tender tips of her breasts, because she wanted Leon in the most primitive way possible, but had never recognised the fact.

Instinctively her awareness of him had scared her from the very first time she had set eyes on him. She had told herself when they had met again it was silly to be afraid of the man. First impressions were usually correct, she should have remembered that, and run as far and fast as she could when he’d reappeared in her life.

It was too late now, she had married the man, and for Nicholas’ sake she was going to have to live with him, but not here in his bed. She leapt off the bed, her frantic gaze flying around the room. She had to live with him, but she did not have to sleep with him. He had said they had to consummate the marriage. My God! He had certainly done that, but she wasn’t hanging around for a repeat performance.

Finally finding her nightshirt on the floor, she picked it up and pulled it over her trembling body. Nicholas’ room was free, she would spend the rest of the night there, and find a room of her own in the morning. Brushing her hair from her eyes, she turned towards the door.

With all the arrogant confidence of a very self-satisfied man, Leon wrapped a towel around his hips and sauntered back into the bedroom. Not only did he have Nicholas, a true Aristides, an heir to inherit his fortune, it was a pleasurable bonus to have the lovely Helen as his wife. He looked at the bed, the empty bed, and his pleasure turned to cold anger in an instant.

He glanced across the room. She was almost at the door, her glorious hair falling in a tumbled mass of waves halfway down her slender back. ‘Going somewhere?’ he demanded, striding towards her, and he saw her shoulders stiffen as she slowly turned to face him. Her violet eyes that had looked at him with such awe not long ago now sparkled with defiance.

‘Yes, I am going to find a room of my own.’

‘This is your room,’ he stated angrily, not appreciating her rebellion. She had to know her place was in his bed, and he reached for her shoulders, his eyes raking over her. The cotton shirt was shapeless and ended mid calf. But it was the pattern that really caught his attention and diffused his anger somewhat. For a man accustomed to his ladies dressed in the finest silks and satins it was a real shock.

‘What on earth are you wearing?’ he asked incredulously. Two ridiculous teddy bears danced across her chest.

Helen hoped it was the picture holding his attention and not her breasts, but much to her shame she could do nothing about the sudden swelling in those same breasts. Leon with a slip of a towel slung around his lean hips was a breathtaking sight to any female between the ages of eight and eighty, she thought, and much to her chagrin she was no exception.

‘It’s my doubly-cuddly nightshirt,’ she blurted. The air between them was fraught with tension and she dragged in a slightly unsteady breath before continuing. ‘Nicholas likes it, he named it, and anyway it has nothing to do with you what I wear.’

‘Maybe not, though your exquisite body deserves the finest silk and satin,’ he opined as his hands tightened on her shoulders and he drew her closer, his dark eyes gleaming with such blatant sexuality it made her heart leap in her breast. ‘But it has everything to do with me where you sleep, and that is in my bed.’

She lowered her lashes over her too-revealing eyes. She could barely look at him without blushing. ‘No, thank you,’ she said with all the cool she could muster. ‘I want my own room.’

An amused smile played around his firm mouth. ‘So polite, but that is not possible, Helen, and anyway all your clothes are here. Surely you would not want to upset Anna by demanding she move them from our suite after one night,’ he prompted mockingly.

She didn’t appreciate the mention of Anna or his amusement. She glanced at the rumpled bed. Obviously what had just happened there was one big laugh to him, whereas to her it was the scene of her downfall and totally humiliating.

‘There is no “our” suite,’ she snapped. He was so damned arrogant, nothing dented his massive male ego, and she continued defiantly, ‘I’ll apologise to Anna for the inconvenience tomorrow, but I am not staying here with you.’

‘You don’t have a choice.’ His mouth tightened, his great body tensed, and all trace of humour vanished. ‘You’re my wife and your place is in my bed.’ His eyes narrowed on her flushed, mutinous face. ‘Don’t try my patience. I have told you before, I don’t like women who play games.’

Her face grew hot with renewed humiliation and fury. ‘I am not playing a game,’ she lashed back. ‘You said we had to consummate the marriage—well, we have. And I have no desire to repeat the exercise.’

One eyebrow rose with derisive scorn. ‘Oh, but you do.’ And a hand left one shoulder to curve around her waist and draw her hard against him. ‘And if you were honest you would admit that it is that desire that has you running scared.’

The contact with his big muscular body sent the blood pounding through Helen’s veins. She looked up at his ruggedly attractive face. His dark eyes held a wealth of intimate, sensual knowledge that shamed and excited her, but also infuriated her beyond words.

‘No,’ she cried. ‘I hated it. I hate you,’ she flung angrily and twisted furiously against his steel-like grip, but to no avail.

His lips twisted in a humourless smile. ‘You don’t know me well enough to hate me. That may come later—one never knows with women,’ he said dryly, his hand snaking up her back, pressing her to him from chest to thigh. ‘But what you hate now is the fact that it was I who showed you what a rampant little sensualist you are, and you hate yourself for enjoying sex with someone you don’t know very well.’

Her eyes glittered with angry resentment. ‘That is not true; you deceived me—you behaved like an animal.’

‘A male animal you thoroughly enjoyed and I have the marks to prove it,’ he stated with undisguised satisfaction.

Helen blushed scarlet and lowered her lashes to disguise her vulnerability from his discerning gaze. But she could not refute it.

Lifting a hand, he cupped her chin. ‘Don’t let it bother you, Helen, I enjoyed receiving every one. I enjoyed you.’ His thumb brushed her jaw line and the fullness of her bottom lip. ‘Your problem is you enjoyed me but do not want to admit the fact.’

‘No.’ Her eyes glittered in angry rejection. ‘I was shocked—you caught me by surprise.’ And his husky chuckle did nothing for her overstretched nerves. The musky male scent of him tantalised her and the pressure of his hard body against her own overheated flesh made her tremble.

‘You certainly surprised me. I could never have imagined a beautiful woman of your age would still be a virgin. Which leads me to believe that rather naively you have been labouring under the popular female illusion that some day you would fall in love and live happily ever after? Tonight was your first time and, while your body wantonly delighted in the experience, your untried emotions received a shock perfectly natural under the circumstances. I’ll give you that.’ His hand burrowed through her hair and he tilted her head up to his. ‘You made the discovery that love, not that I believe it exists,’ he drawled with cynical humour, ‘is not a prerequisite for great sex, and your childish illusions are shattered.’