Xenakis's Convenient Bride(17)

She dragged her gaze off the open-plan main floor with its ultramodern  furniture in masculine tones of charcoal and silver. The stairs climbed  at different angles to multiple levels, pausing on a landing where a  small sitting room provided a space to enjoy the expansive view over the  city through the massive wall of windows. The uppermost flight of  stairs ended in a loft she presumed was the bedroom.

"Don't worry about unpacking. People will be here tomorrow."

"People. More bodies you've purchased for use?" She stared with contempt  at the mountain of parcels piled up like stacks of money against the  wall. Another rich playboy who did as he pleased. She had pegged him  right from the first, but had still fallen for his line. She really was  the stupidest woman alive.

"Explain that remark." His tone might have scared her if she wasn't so appalled. And hurt. Profoundly hurt.

"You picked me specifically to annoy your grandfather!"         

     



 

Greece? That's where you've been?

She had seen the disapproval in the old man's eyes. The flinch as  Stavros revealed she had been born on "his" island, like he knew it  would get at the old man as nothing else could. The way Edward had stood  there, silent and baleful as some kind of silent war raged between  them, had stung like a snakebite.

"I paid you to annoy him." He waved at the parcels. "And I've included a tip."

"Why would I wear any of that when the point is to embarrass him? To be  an embarrassment." Humiliation choked off her voice, burning hotly  behind her eyes. "That's an ugly thing to do to someone. I'm not going  to be part of it."

She moved to stab the button that called the private elevator.

"We have an agreement." He pushed a button labeled Cancel, then leaned  on the wall next to it, blocking her from hitting the call button again.  "A legally binding contract."

"That's what happens when you shop the bargain basement, Steve. You  don't get the longevity you expect from the item. Move." She jerked her  chin, wanting to punch right through him to the button he was blocking.



"Don't call me that," Stavros growled, prickling with what might have been his conscience.

"Don't call you Steve? It's better than what I want to call you. I'd  take it, if I were you. Move." She dodged behind him, but he only  flattened his back on the panel, aware he was being juvenile, but he  hadn't expected this.

"You're overreacting."

"I'm reacting with the exact amount of outrage that is appropriate. You  lied to me. You are exactly like the entitled, superficial jerk who  ruined my life the first time." She pulled out her cell phone.

"Who are you calling?" As if he didn't know. It made him see red.

"I let myself believe you were better than you are." Disillusion put a  ragged edge on her voice. "You knew I wanted to come to New York and you  used that not just to advance your interests, but to belittle me."

He took her phone and her arm, turning her toward the sofa. "Come here."

"Don't you touch me." She shook free of his hold.

For one second, he stared down a look of genuine violence. He wasn't  scared, precisely. He didn't expect she could hurt him beyond a few  scratches or bruises, but he was taken aback by how deep her rage ran.  How anguished she looked at the same time.

"You dragged me here with a promise of something that means everything to me-" She bit her lip, arms straight at her sides.

"Yes. Exactly what is that?" he demanded, looming over her so he could see into her eyes.

She ignored the question, throwing out her hand in a wild wave. "Just so  you could parade me in front of your grandfather as something shameful.  I can get that by going home to my father, thanks. Go to hell with your  arrangement. Steve."

They had more to discuss, but "Last one." He pointed in warning. "I mean  that." If he had come away with nothing else from Sebastien's  challenge, he had at least reclaimed himself.

"Steve! Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve!"

He wanted to crush the word right out of her, but kept himself just this  side of civilized as he gave her a deadly stare. "Use the name you call  me when I'm inside you."

Her pupils expanded and a shadow of betrayal moved within them, dimming  the angry light in her golden eyes. "Don't. Just admit you're a  bastard."

"Not by birth, but definitely by nature," he agreed, moving closer. "Now  call me by my proper name. My real name, glykia mou. Or I'll make you.  You know I can." He was pretty sure he could. He had spent most of their  honeymoon learning how to wring the prettiest noises possible from her.

Her jaw set and lifted as he came into her space. She glared up at him,  mouth tight, hands still fisted at her sides. "Give me back my phone."

"You do not get to call your guard dog every time we have a disagreement."

"It's not a disagreement. You lied."

"I told you I wanted to marry you for this." He shaped the air closest  to her body, deliberately keeping his hands in the space where the heat  exchanged, but they didn't touch. Her nipples peaked as though he  fondled her, though. Her breath changed and he knew by the way her  thighs twitched that she pulsed in a way that echoed the tightening in  his own groin.

"You said..." She swallowed, gaze clouding. "You said you wanted..."

He waited, feeling the pull of satisfaction in the corners of his mouth  when she couldn't remember what they were talking about. Neither could  he.         

     



 

"I want you," he told her. Truthfully. With gut-wrenching honesty, if she only knew it. "Open your dress."

She breathed loud enough for him to hear it. Her mouth trembled.

"Why are you doing this?" she said with a helpless pang.

He cupped her cheek and stepped close enough to drop his head and  capture her lips. No resistance, just pure, hot response as she welcomed  him. He stole greedily past her teeth with his tongue, fingers  dispatching her buttons with more urgency than finesse.

Her hands went into his hair as her dress fell open. He released her bra  and took possession of her breasts, loving her groan of abject pleasure  as he found both her nipples and rolled his thumbs over the pert tips.

Bending, he stole a taste of each one, wanting to linger, but wanting  other things. The win. Total surrender. He turned her away from him.

"Put your hands on the wall."

She did, breath ragged as she placed each palm flat on either side of  the call button on the brushed-nickel panel next to the elevator. As he  ran his hands up under her skirt and caught at the lace that was soaked  with her response, his breath hissed in, hot and fiery, burning his  chest. He lingered to caress her slippery folds, watching her back bow  and shudder, feeling her cling to his light penetration.

"More?" He barely choked out the word. "You want me?"

"Yes." She arched as he brought her skirt all the way up to her waist and caressed the smooth globes of her ass.

"Say it." He ruthlessly clung to control. Of himself. Her. But  rationality was disappearing behind stark need. "Ask me for what you  want. Ask me."

"Use a condom."

He tightened his fingertips into her hips, so aroused by her words of  permission he nearly went blind, but fought it, not certain he could  keep himself from taking her without getting what he wanted first.

Then he heard her moan, "Please, Stavros..."





CHAPTER SIX

SHE WOKE ALONE in the bed. The humid scent of a recent shower drifted from the open door of the bathroom.

Her whole body protested when she sat up, muscles aching from exertion,  brain lethargic from heavy sleep. She couldn't help a small whimper as  she swung her feet to the floor and sat there naked on the side of the  bed, feeling profoundly alone.

"Sore?"

She flashed a look into the dark cavern of the walk in closet, heart  leaping in surprise. He was naked, but there was no reading his  expression or even the tone of that one word. Concerned? Smug? She  couldn't tell.

He'd been insatiable last night, but there'd been something in his  desire for her that had made him undeniable. She knew there was  something in his name, his relationship with his grandfather, something  that pierced into the very heart of him.

She had felt him trying to exorcise it last night, as he had immersed  himself in their lovemaking, not taking, but giving, again and again.  His concentrated attention, his words of praise and pleasure, had been  reassuring and compelling, but what had really kept her as lost to  passion as he was had been that layer of inner pain she couldn't reach.

Succor. They had sought that together last night.

In the light of day, she still felt flaunted as something substandard, though.

She pulled the edge of the sheet across herself. It was a flimsy shield.

He finished pulling on his shorts and skimmed a white business shirt  from a hanger. He shrugged into it as he came into the bedroom.