Page 31

Yet at times today it had felt exactly like that. As if power was slipping away from him, into the hands of his new wife, and not just because she had overruled him about skipping the reception. When she had stared up at him during the wedding ceremony, so tiny and appealing—those big amber eyes of hers bright with undeniable hope—hadn’t he been forced to steel himself against that look and the inexplicable stab to his heart which had accompanied it? Her soft vulnerability had been the reason he had plucked her from his grandfather’s house and put her out of the old man’s reach, but how could he have underestimated its subliminal effect on him?
Howcouldhe?
His anger was an aphrodisiac, his mouth hard and hungry as he kissed her, and she answered it with a fierce hunger of her own. The kick to his groin was instant, the throb of blood through his veins unstoppable. Tangling his fingers in the spill of her dark hair, he deepened the kiss—the thrust of his tongue mimicking the more intimate thrust his body so desperately craved. As she writhed restlessly against him, he cupped her breasts through her wedding dress. Her nipples were pushing against his palms like bullets and suddenly the gown represented everything he despised. All those things the white sugar almonds had symbolised. Fertility, and the endurance and sweetness of marriage. When, in reality, both were a trap which didn’t mean a damned thing. Because nothing was ever as it seemed, he reminded himself bitterly.
‘I want to rip this damned thing off.’
‘But it’s brand-new,’ she whispered.
‘You’re not planning to wear it again, are you?’ he mocked.
‘I guess not. G-go ahead, then.’
And God forgive him, but he did. He couldn’t seem to stop himself, rending the garment with one sure movement, so that it flapped around her, giving him scope to feast his eyes on her petite frame, clad in snowy lingerie. ‘This is new, too,’ he observed unevenly, one finger tracing a lingering path over the delicate curve of her lacy bra.
‘Y-yes. The…’ She shuddered with pleasure as he paid extra attention to her nipple. ‘The stylist persuaded me I needed new lingerie, too.’
‘The stylist was right,’ he concurred smokily.
‘But you won’t rip that, will you?’ she questioned and suddenly her cheeks grew pink. ‘Can you…can you leave it on?’
Her shy candour only increased his ardour as he scooped her up and carried her into the bedroom, his disbelieving gaze registering a huge red heart of rose petals lying in the centre of the bed, forcing him to put her down.
‘Who the hell put these here?’ he demanded, impatiently sweeping aside most of the petals so that they fluttered to the ground in a swirl of scarlet.
‘Evangelia must have done. And there’s no need to sound so cross,’ she reproved softly. ‘It’s a traditional welcome for honeymooners.’
‘But we aren’t traditional honeymooners,’ he ground out. ‘And I’m not a big fan of gestures of cloying sentimentality.’
‘Cloying sentimentality?’ she repeated. ‘What a bad-tempered man you can be at times, Odysseus.’
‘Only because I’m as frustrated as hell,’ he admitted huskily. And indeed, all his irritation was banished the moment he had Grace lying supine on the mattress, her chestnut hair spread all over the pillow, one knee bent with artless provocation as she looked up at him from between shuttered lashes. He gazed back at her as a rush of desire pulsed through him like a hot tide, and for a moment it threatened to take him under. But this isn’t real, he reminded himself dazedly. It’s just an arrangement which happens to suit us both.
Kicking off his shoes, he started pulling off his own clothes. His wedding suit, shirt and boxers soon strewn haphazardly all over the floor before he joined her on the bed and began to explore her with a thoroughness which was making his heart thunder. For a while he feasted lavishly on her silken flesh, his teeth nipping the bra she had requested he leave on, his hand sliding between her legs.
‘Odysseus,’ she whispered, arching her back so that her belly made contact with the weight of his erection.
‘You’re driving me wild,’ he complained hungrily.
‘Good.’
Somehow he managed to locate a condom, though his hands were shaking as he tore open the foil. Concentrating fiercely, he slid it over his virile shaft as Grace lay there watching him. She raised her arms above her head, heavy eyes glinting as he positioned himself between her legs.
‘Do you realise you look like every man’s secret fantasy, lying there in your virginal lingerie, just waiting to be ravished?’ he questioned unsteadily, sliding aside the damp panel of her panties.
‘Do I?’
‘Mmm. Leaving me with no alternative other than to do…this…’
He pushed deep inside her and she gave a little cry of pleasure.
‘Andthis.’
‘Odysseus,’ she gasped.
‘It’s good?’ he asked unnecessarily.
‘You wouldn’t believe how good,’ she breathed.