She heard herself urging, "Never stop. Never."
"Never," he growled, driving her higher with every powerful move of his hips. They clung and arched and moaned and, when the crisis arrived released jagged cries as they crested together.
CHAPTER FIVE
STAVROS LANDED ON his back on the floor when he rolled off her, knocking out what little breath he had left. His elbow bumped the coffee table when he eventually lifted his wrist from his eyes.
All he could see was one bare knee off the edge of the sofa cushion and a flash of torn white lace abandoned on the glass of the tabletop.
He licked lips that were dry from panting. His breath and pulse slowed, but remained unsteady. He swallowed and rubbed his hand down his face, trying to pull himself together.
What the hell had just happened? He had promised to take it slow.
He had known it would be good and had wanted to savor their first time, but damn. They were a seriously combustible combination. The part of himself that carried a million responsibilities, and remained in control while taking on crazy physical stunts, told him to step back and reassess. The other part, the part that went hang-gliding and ran with the bulls merely to keep from dying of boredom, that man was beating his chest and screaming a primal "Hell, yeah" from a mountaintop.
Her leg twitched and she made a noise. Discomfort?
Concerned, he forced his lethargic muscles to work and rose on one arm. The rest of him came back to life as he came eye level with her landscape of curves en déshabillés.
"Are you okay?"
"Fine." She pushed her skirt down and tried to draw up her rumpled dress to cover her breasts.
He hitched his elbow on the side of the sofa, set his chin on his fist and patiently waited for her gaze to quit skittering in avoidance. She finally turned her head so mere inches separated her nose from his. Such adorable shyness after they'd been rapacious and lost to one another. Did she remember demanding more from him? Telling him to never stop?
He would never forget it.
His scalp tightened all over again.
"Do you think we could make it to the bed this time?" His voice came out more tender than he intended.
Her eyes widened. "You want to...again?" She swallowed.
He reminded himself she was the next thing to a virgin. "I did warn you we'd be doing it a lot." Say yes. Please.
Her pretty mouth drew into a moue and her lashes swept down. If she was physically uncomfortable, he would accept it, but if she was about to trot out one of her fibs about not wanting him, he would press harder. Surely they were past that now?
Surely she wanted to slake this voracious animal as much as he did?
"Perhaps if you gave me a head start?" She cut a dry glance toward him.
"Ha!" A rush of delight had him grabbing her and dragging her down atop him, laughing openly when she squealed in surprise. He caught at her dress, sweeping it upward and off as she wriggled to sit up across his hips.
They both stilled as he took in her naked figure.
She brought up a shy arm and he stopped her before she could cover herself. She blushed and bit her lip as she peered at him from behind hair that was loose and messy, framing her flushed face. Her curves were ample and soft, pale where she had protected herself from the sun. Mesmerizing.
He was humbled in that moment by her innocent beauty. By the feminine grace of her.
As he absorbed that this sensual, glorious woman belonged to him, it struck him that if he had grown up on their island, he might have been the one to take her virginity. Would he have married her? Had a lifetime with her?
It was a disturbing thought, like believing in fate, but it just went to show that the mistake he had made that day with his father continued to have repercussions.
He felt like a thief then, like he was stealing something he wasn't supposed to have.
He had long ago learned to live in the moment, however, not pine for what had been or what could be. He and Calli had an agreement. They had six months.
He would enjoy every one of them.
If it was possible to be punch-drunk from lovemaking, Calli was exactly that by the time they arrived in New York. They had even made love on the plane, since Stavros had a private jet with a stateroom.
When Calli thought back to her awkward fumblings with Brandon, something she'd done to feel close to a boy who had dazzled her, there was no comparison. It was the same act in name only.
Stavros took pains to make her soar, almost like it was a contest. Like every single time he was proving to her that he could make her feel like that. He seemed to take incredible pleasure in it, which was addictive in another way. She feared she was becoming infatuated, because how could she not fall for a man who provided such intense gratification with such delight in such an intimate way?
At the same time, the feeling that she was bought and paid for grew. When they had taken a break from lovemaking, their honeymoon had consisted of a lot of shopping. Obscenely decadent amounts of shopping.
She had protested, claiming the dresses, shoes and jewelry weren't necessary, but he had insisted. We'll have a lot of appearances. You'll need to look the part.
She wasn't his real wife. He wasn't spoiling her because he wanted to. He was paying her to be something he needed.
The number of parcels that had been loaded onto the plane had made her feel uncomfortable, especially when he had called for a particular bag from a lingerie boutique to be brought into the cabin.
I want to see you in the red set.
Try as she might to feel objectified by that, when he had skimmed his lips along the lace at her hips, drawing it down oh-so-slowly, she had begged for the pleasure of his tongue. Twice.
She was losing herself. It was especially disturbing because, despite the intensity of time they were spending together and the physical familiarity they had arrived at, she still felt as though he was a stranger. Especially once he dressed in a tailored suit on the plane and began firing orders at everyone from his driver to the people he spoke with on the phone as they drove into Manhattan.
Somehow she had failed to fully appreciate how rich and powerful Stavros was. Yes, he had bought her countless gowns and dresses from boutiques and salons in Paris, but she hadn't seen any price tags. She had told herself they couldn't be that expensive.
She knew they were. She read gossip magazines. She knew designer dresses could make mortgage payments for average people like her. One bra alone had been her weekly salary. Stavros had bought it in every color.
She was in a state of denial because she couldn't believe she was awake, not dreaming this ridiculous charade she had put herself in.
When they arrived at a freestanding mansion in the middle of the city, however, she began to fully take in what kind of family she had married into. What kind of money. The bricks of the three-story house were a mellowed, burnt orange in the fading sun of the summer evening. The white detailing gave it an elegant Mediterranean feel. It had a proper stone balustrade surrounding a private garden and a wrought iron gate that didn't make a sound as Stavros held it open for her, allowing her to precede him up the stone path lined with fragrant lavender and thyme.
"This is your home?"
"My grandfather's town house. He stays here three nights a week and spends the rest of the week upstate. I did the same until I had access to my trust and bought my penthouse."
"You have a penthouse? In New York?"
"I have several." He shrugged it off as no big deal. "Simpson." Stavros greeted the man who opened the front door before they finished climbing the steps.
"Master Michaels. Welcome." He greeted Calli with a nod and showed them down the hall. He knocked briefly, then entered a den, announcing, "Your grandson, sir."
The elderly man leaned forward to press a button that muted the television, not rising until he saw Stavros had company. He was heavyset with age, but moved spryly and had an old-world stateliness to his handsome features. The Xenakis genes aged well. Stavros would grow more good-looking over time, as if he needed any more advantages.
"Will you be dining with us, sir?" Simpson asked.
"No, we'll have a proper family dinner later in the week, with my mother and sisters. This is a courtesy visit. To introduce my wife. Edward Michaels, Calli Xenakis."
The old man straightened another inch, plainly astonished.
The rest of what Stavros said should have been directed at the butler, but Stavros's hard stare remained locked with his grandfather's.
"You'll refer to both of us by our Greek names from now on."
If Calli had landed in a state of denial, she was nursing white-hot anger by the time she stood in the lounge of one of Stavros's many penthouses. Uniformed staff finished unloading her parcels from a dolly, hurrying to finish before tugging their caps as they left.