‘I am the one who should be thanking you.’
‘For—for what?’ Becca questioned against his hand.
‘For staying.’
‘But you asked me to—and I was supposed to…’
‘That is not what I mean.’
Looking deep into her confused eyes, Andreas moved the restraining finger, lifting it to the middle of her forehead and tracing his way along her hairline, stroking a gentle pathway round to her temple and down along her cheek, sliding it under her chin to lift her face to his.
‘Don’t you know that in a way you’re the person I know best? The others—Leander, Medora—I don’t remember the last year I spent with them—but that doesn’t matter so much to me. We are as we have always been. But you—you’re the one I feel I’ve come to know in the days you’ve been here. The one I’ve grown closer to. And I want to be closer…so much closer…’
‘Oh, don’t!’
The cry escaped her in a panic, before she had even considered what she might say if he asked her to explain her reasons for the protest. She couldn’t let him go on like this—couldn’t…
But Andreas wasn’t listening and the next moment any chance she had of saying more evaporated in a rush as those strong fingers under her chin exerted just a little bit more pressure, tilting her face up higher, coming closer to his. And his mouth came down on hers in a kiss that stole all thought away and took her senses with it.
Andreas’ kiss started out slow, almost light, but in the space of a heartbeat it had moved from gentle through enticing until it got to hungry and insistent. And in spite of her fears, or perhaps because of them, Becca found that she didn’t have the strength to fight him. She didn’t want to fight him. With the realisation of how much she still loved him right at the forefront of her thoughts, she gave herself up to that kiss, melting into his arms, feeling their strength tighten around her, holding her close.
She was pressed up against him, against the warm expanse of his naked chest, with her head resting on the hardness of his shoulder, under the smooth stretch of tanned, golden skin. The black haze of hair that covered his chest was soft underneath her chin and she sighed and rubbed her face against it, feeling it tickle her. Under the clinging swimsuit her breasts tightened and stung with need, the hardened nipples pushing against the constricting cloth, and desire was a heated, pulsing pool low down in her body.
‘Becca…’
Her name was a raw sound on Andreas’ tongue, thick and guttural, the sound of a hunger that matched her own.
This time when he took her lips again his kiss burned and demanded, his arms crushing her to him. And Becca went willingly, the thunder of need in her heart drowning out any weak voice of attempted caution. This was what she wanted; what she needed now. She didn’t care about the past, had no thought of the future. What she wanted was right here in the present. Hers for the taking.
And she was going to take it.
She had spent almost a year mourning the loss of this passion in her life, hating the way that world seemed cold and hard and empty without it. Now she had one chance—probably one last chance—to experience the scalding pleasure of being here, where she most wanted to be, in Andreas’ arms, with his kiss crushing her mouth, his hands hot and hard on her. And it was what she most wanted in all the world.
Those powerful hands were stroking over her skin, moving down along the straight line of her spine, leaving burning trails in their wake as if his touch was actually hot enough to mark her, brand her as his for all time to come. The feel of it made her moan aloud, arching her back like a small, sensual cat that stretched into a caress.
The movement brought her right up against him, against the heated swell of his powerful erection, a potent force that she felt almost as strongly as if she were naked, there was so little clothing to come between them. Just the heat of it made her breath catch in her throat and she swayed softly, turning her whole pelvis into a caress that had him snatching in air in a rush like a drowning man.
‘Becca!’
It was half protest, half encouragement and he clamped his big hands on the tight curve of her buttocks, holding her still, but keeping her pressed hard and tight against his burning flesh.
The words he muttered in her ear were in thick, rough Greek, and so incomprehensible to her, but she didn’t need to know the language to understand, at the most basic, primitive level, exactly what he was saying to her. And it was something she wanted to say right back.
‘I want you…’
She choked it out, the knot of need in her throat almost preventing her from finding her voice.