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That by now he would be pushing her down onto that vast bed and sliding his hand hungrily beneath her cotton dress? Yes. Of course she had. Because that was the fantasy. That was what had been preoccupying her thoughts since the travel details had pinged into her inbox and she’d stared at them in disbelief.
Shutting the wardrobe door and following the sound of running water, Grace entered the steamy bathroom, her senses instantly assailed by the heady scent of jasmine, but even more by the vision which greeted her. It was an incongruous sight—the Greek billionaire with his shirt sleeves rolled up, next to a tub filled high with bubbly water. He straightened up as she appeared and his image was reflected back from the many mirrored surfaces, as if taunting her with all those different angles of a powerful body which suddenly seemed so far away.
‘Would you like me to bring you a glass of champagne?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Or perhaps you’d prefer to wait until afterwards?’
After what? Grace wondered with a touch of hysteria, but somehow she managed a smile. ‘I’ve never drunk champagne in the bath before,’ she informed him nervously.
‘No, I don’t suppose you have.’ His eyes glinted with something she didn’t recognise. ‘In which case, I’d better go and pour you some, hadn’t I?’
Turning away from her obvious embarrassment, Odysseus beat a hasty retreat, aware of the pulse hammering at his temple as he walked along the long corridor and into the grand salon. For long moments he stared down at the steady stream of traffic on the Avenue Montaigne before, eventually, he sighed, plucking a bottle of vintage champagne from the ice bucket and tearing off the foil with impatient fingers.
When would he learn that nothing ever turned out the way you expected? His body had been as tight as a coiled whip all morning—something he’d put down to the frustration he’d experienced since leaving Venice and breaking his self-imposed celibacy with a woman he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about. A woman who was wrong for him on so many levels. How easy it was to be wise after the event, he thought acidly.
He had decided not to meet her at the airport for many reasons and not just because of ever-pressing work commitments. He’d been in such a state of heightened anticipation that he didn’t trust himself not to start making out in the car and public lovemaking was something he never indulged in, no matter how powerful the provocation. Plus, he didn’t want her thinking he was the kind of man who met women off flights like an ardent suitor, because he wasn’t. Achingly aware of her relative innocence, he had decided it was important she understood his boundaries from the get-go, and he didn’t want to mislead her.
He had paced around the hotel suite distractedly all morning, eagerly awaiting her appearance. Bearing in mind that he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her and she clearly felt the same, it should have been simple and straightforward. But then the limousine had arrived and all his plans of instant sex had been blown out of the water.
She’d been sitting upright in the back seat and he’d seen the look in her eyes as she’d peered out of the window. The anxiety and the trepidation—but, even more than that, the way she’d been chewing on her lip. She had looked unbearably vulnerable and something in his gut had clenched as she had stepped from the car, all bare legs and a light cotton dress. Her diminutive stature and wide eyes made her seem impossibly fragile and his once clear agenda of sexual tutelage now seemed burdened by a sudden and unwanted sense of responsibility. In that moment she had looked less like flesh and blood and more like some delicate piece of porcelain and he was terrified of touching her. Of breaking her. A cloud had passed over the day and somehow he couldn’t seem to shift its shadow.
But then, hadn’t everything taken on a more sombre hue since his return from Venice, when he’d walked away with the sickening discovery of how little his mother had meant to her own father? And hadn’t that only reinforced his cynical conclusions on the toxic nature of families? Silently, he cursed his lack of judgement.
Why the hell had he brought innocent Grace Foster here when he should have been seeking solace with a woman who was more like him? Somebody without a heart, who knew the rules. Somebody who had nothing to do with a past he wanted to shut the door on for ever.
After pouring two flutes of champagne, he returned to the bathroom, lingering in the doorway as he took in the intimate scene in front of him. Up to her neck in foam, Grace was lying with her head resting against the back of the bath, her eyes closed and a damp strand of hair curling on her cheek. She looked soft. Relaxed. All blurred and hazy—like an out-of-focus photo. She might almost have been asleep. But she wasn’t. She must have heard him because her wet lashes fluttered open and she smiled and Odysseus was unprepared for the sudden clench of his heart in response to that simple smile. She hauled herself up a little, the water slopping away from her, giving him a distracting glimpse of a pair of rosy nipples.
‘You look more…relaxed,’ he observed.
‘Mmm. I feel it.’ She gave a self-conscious little shrug. ‘It’s amazing what a little hot water can do.’
‘Here,’ he said, handing her the drink.
‘Thanks.’ She took a sip and blinked rapidly as the bubbles flew up her nose, before fixing him with an inquisitive look. ‘Aren’t you having any?’
‘Not right now.’ He put his glass down on the floor and studied the shiny expanse of her wet shoulders. ‘I’m tempted to get in there and join you.’
There was a pause and her cheeks grew even more flushed. ‘So…what’s stopping you?’ she questioned shyly.
‘Logistics,’ he husked and, taking the glass from her fingers to place it next to his own, he leaned forward to touch his lips to hers, unprepared for his reaction to that first kiss. Because didn’t he find himself almostresentingthe surge of surrender which flooded through him as she kissed him back, her wet hands cupping the sides of his face as if to anchor herself? Her tongue moved greedily inside his mouth as if she were as eager to reacquaint herself with him and he could taste the sharpness of the champagne and the sweetness of her lips.
With a hungry growl he slipped a hand beneath the frothy water and cupped her breast and the contrast between the warm globe of flesh and the silken caress of the water on his skin was delicious. She gasped as he flicked his thumb over one thrusting nipple and he couldn’t resist exploring further, down over the flat belly before flickering his fingertips between the thighs which had so willingly parted for him.
‘Yes,’ she breathed hungrily, but as water began to slop over the side of the bath, he pulled away, his heart hammering hard against his ribcage.
‘Not here,’ he announced huskily, ignoring the disappointed pucker of her lips as he lifted her out of the water and wrapped her in a voluminous towel. He heard the ragged breath she sucked in as he became engrossed in the erotic task of drying her. He paid particular attention to her nipples and the honeyed slickness between her thighs before recognising, with a sudden urgency, that he needed to get her into bed before they both ended up on the unforgiving marble floor.
He carried her to the bedroom, lowering her onto the cover so that she looked tiny against the vast mattress, her nakedness framed by a backdrop of dusky pink satin. He began to undress and her eyes were huge as they followed each movement with fascination and he wondered if it was her innocent preoccupation which made his fingers uncharacteristically unsteady as he peeled off his shirt and reached for the button of his jeans.
‘It is very distracting when you look at me like that,’ he murmured.
‘In a good way, or a bad way?’ she questioned.
Could she really be that innocent? he wondered wryly. ‘In a good way,’ he conceded, rolling onto the bed beside her and pulling the tie from her hair, so that the damp chestnut-brown locks tumbled down in wild profusion. She gave a little yelp of what sounded like relief as her arms snaked sinuously around his neck to press herself close to him, and her enthusiasm drove away the last of his habitual cynicism. With a low growl of anticipation, Odysseus began to rediscover her petite body with the practised drift of his fingers. Her slim hips and tiny waist. The rocky nipples, which fitted so neatly into his waiting mouth. The soft curls and honeyed folds.
Unable to ignore her moans any longer, he groped for the condom he’d had the foresight to place beside the bed but sliding it over his aching hardness seemed to take for ever. And maybe it was the delayed gratification which was responsible for the incandescent burst of pleasure which arrowed through him as he thrust deep inside her. Because what else could it be?
It was over too quickly. He heard her gasp just before she started to spasm and then he was coming too, he just couldn’t seem to stop himself. The words he choked out were incomprehensible as he spilled his seed inside her and afterwards, he felt… He stared at the ceiling with faint bemusement. He feltdifferent. He turned his head to look at her. Her eyes were closed, a flushed satisfaction had made her cheeks grow pink and there was a small, secret smile curving her lips. For the first time in his life, Odysseus could feel the true and intimidating danger of a woman’s power, and he didn’t like it.
Whowasshe? he wondered bitterly.