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His palm was a tender weight at the base of her throat and she could feel every part of her come alive once again at his touch.
She lifted her head, brushing his mouth in a return kiss, but he pulled away, just out of reach. Her breath caught as she stared up at him, at the burning intensity of his gaze. ‘Say yes,’ he repeated softly. ‘If you say yes, you’ll get everything you want.’
His hand slid from her throat, slowly down over the curve of one breast, and cupped it gently, his thumb teasing her aching nipple through the fabric of her dress.
She trembled, arching into the warmth of his palm.
Everything she wanted...
Right now, all she could think of was him.
A long breath escaped her and she reached up, sliding her fingers in his thick black hair. It felt like raw silk against her skin. She gripped it, drawing his head down, making sure he couldn’t pull away.
‘Yes,’ she whispered against his mouth.
‘Tonight.’ It was a growl. ‘You’ll be mine tonight.’
‘Yes.’
Then his mouth was on hers and all words were lost.
CHAPTER SIX
ARISTOPHANESTURNEDOVERand opened his eyes. Half of him had been dreading that the night before had been a dream, that when he awoke he’d find his bed empty and the woman he’d been with, the warm, silky, beautiful little woman he’d spent the night exploring every inch of, would be gone.
But she wasn’t gone. She was still fast asleep next to him in his giant bed, her thick auburn hair spread like kelp over the white Egyptian cotton pillowcase. Her hands were tucked beneath her chin like a child’s, her auburn lashes lying still on her cheeks. The sheet had slipped down to her waist, exposing pale shoulders, the swell of her stomach and the graceful arch of her back.
She was lovely. So lovely.
Once she’d agreed to a night together the day before in his office, he’d been very tempted to simply lay her out on the carpet before his desk and have her there and then. However, he’d decided that there would be fewer interruptions if he took her back to his penthouse apartment on the Upper East Side, that looked out over Central Park.
So he had and they’d fallen into bed immediately, only surfacing for food and drink, before losing themselves in each other again. They hadn’t talked. They’d let their bodies continue the same wordless conversation they’d first had back in Melbourne, communicating via sensation, with touches and licks, and caresses and bites, and pleasure.
It had been incredible. Maybe even more incredible than that first night they’d spent together, which was saying something.
He wanted to reach out and touch her, trace her little bump the way he hadn’t been able to keep from doing in the elevator the day before, a rare experience for him since usually after a night with a lover, all he wanted to do was leave. Then again, they hadn’t had much sleep and she was still jet-lagged. She really should have some rest.
Especially since she’s pregnant.
An unwelcome arrow of reality pierced him, making his chest feel tight and uncomfortable. Yes, how could he have forgotten that? He was going to be a father.
It was hard thinking when he was right next to her, with her warmth and scent all around him, because she made him want to do things other than thinking. So, he slid out of bed carefully without waking her.
And he did need to think. She’d been very clear the day before that she didn’t want to move into one of his residences, or give up her life in Melbourne, and why her feelings about this mattered to him, he wasn’t sure. But they did, and he didn’t like that they did.
Frowning to himself, he went into the en suite bathroom, stepped into the huge granite shower, and turned on the water, letting it slip over his naked body.
Logically it made sense to insist she move where it was easier for him to visit both her and the child. He could more easily care for her there—or rather have his staff care for her. Also, the more he thought about it, the more he realised he wanted his child to have one place to grow up in. A home.
He’d had one once, before his mother had abandoned him. A large house in Athens, with a garden he’d played in, but that was all he remembered about it. He remembered more of being shipped around the country, from one foster family to another, always a new house, always new family. He’d lost count of how many homes he’d had, which was why he’d used his mind to escape. In the privacy of his own head, there was familiarity, continuity. Control.
Yet while that had worked for him in many ways, he didn’t want his own child to have that kind of childhood. It had been a lonely existence to be always left longing for a connection with someone, anyone. A longing that had never been fulfilled, since he’d never stayed with any family long enough to establish any kind of connection.
Eventually he’d excised that longing from his heart and taught himself not to want, never to need. But still...
His child should have better than that.
He stepped out of the shower, dried himself off and pulled on the first pair of trousers that came to hand. Then he went out of the bedroom, padded down the hallway and into the cavernous kitchen of his massive apartment, and began the process of making coffee.