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‘You mean…’ she sucked in a breath as his fingers sizzled over her skin ‘…do I regularly wear scarlet ball gowns?’
‘Well, presumably not when you’re out shopping,’ he murmured and then his fingers stilled in their unbuttoning, and a sudden steely note entered his voice. ‘I was just wondering if this was an annual event for you.’
Did he mean the ball? Or was he intimating that she hooked up with a new man every year and did…this? She opened her mouth to protest that she was not that kind of woman but by then he was lifting her out of the heap of rich fabric and there were far more immediate concerns on Grace’s mind than protesting her innocence. Any minute now and he would see her completely naked. He would realise that her curvy body had been nothing but a mirage—or rather, a miracle of corsetry. Would he be disappointed with the real her and feel she had given him a false impression?
Trying to distract herself from these spirals of negative thinking, she began to tug at his costume, shrugging off the heavy cloak and scrabbling at the fine lace shirt until she had bared his torso. Her sigh of appreciation was instinctive as she smoothed her palms over the oiled silk, wondering if she dared touch the daunting hardness which was straining so flagrantly against his satin breeches.
Did he sense her sudden shyness? Was that why he put his lips close to her ear?
‘I’m all done with waiting,’ he growled. ‘I’m all yours,poulaki mou. Do what you want with me.’
His steely interrogation seemingly forgotten, Grace shivered with anticipation as he pulled off the last of their clothes. She was naked now but there was no place for insecurity—not when she could see his face growing taut with lust as he tumbled them down onto the canopied bed.
Liquid fire flooded through her as he wrapped himself around her, her softness contrasting with his hard muscle. His mouth was on her breast, his teeth teasing at a nipple, a powerful thigh pushing in between hers. Lost in a haze of heat, she flickered her hand towards his groin, not in the least bit shy now, which was curious. She’d never touched a man intimately before but instinct told her to be gentle and that instinct was proved right, because he groaned helplessly as she feathered her fingertips over his straining hardness.
He allowed her nothing but a few frustrating seconds of exploring his rocky length when, with a sudden rush of air, he moved away and got up off the bed. Hungrily, her eyes followed him as he walked over to the desk, his powerful frame bathed in silver. She saw him bend and remove something from an overnight bag and suddenly understood its significance as moonlight flashed upon the metallic paper. For one appalled second, she stilled as she realised she’d been so caught up with what was happening that she hadn’t given contraception a second thought.
Because it was something she’d never had to consider before.
In breathless silence she watched him return to the bed and he flicked her a rueful glance as he rolled the protection over his thick shaft.
‘I’m finding it difficult to concentrate when you’re looking at me like that,’ he admitted huskily.
‘Do you…want me to look away?’
‘No,’ he husked fervently. ‘Most definitely not.’
Which was confusing. But there was no time to think about that either, because now he was moving on top of her and Grace was eagerly opening her mouth to him. Her legs, too. She was so pent up with desire for him that she didn’t have time to grow nervous, even when she felt his blunt tip brushing against the wetness of her quivering flesh. Maybe that was what made the pain much less than she’d expected. There was just one moment of exquisite tension before he thrust deeper inside her, filling her completely and making her cry out.
‘Odysseus,’ she choked, the single word filled with disbelief and wonder that something could feel soincredible.
His own muttered response was incomprehensible. Momentarily, he grew still, before driving his lips down on hers again and kissing them so thoroughly that she felt as if she were being consumed by him. By his mouth and his body. By the stroke of his fingers and that sweet, rhythmic thrust which seemed almost to reach her heart. Did she say something? Was that why he briefly halted his movement?
‘Is that good?’ he demanded shakily.
‘God, yes,’ she choked back. ‘You…you wouldn’t believe how good.’
‘Oh, I think I would.’
She tried to savour every second. To enjoy it for what it was. She was blown away by his obvious skill, but this was interspersed with an unexpected tenderness which took her by surprise. He was being verycarefulwith her, she realised. As if she was delicate and precious. And that was her undoing. That was what made her tumble over the edge, just like last time.
Only this was nothing like last time.
This time he was inside her. With her. Part of her. The dreamy fairy tale complete. Powerful spasms tore her apart, lifting her up before tumbling her down in dreamy slow motion, to a place where everything was golden and pulsing. Reality shifted in and out of focus as he increased his speed and, as his body tensed, Grace risked glancing up at his face. Was she hoping for some kind of connection—a moment of silent communication which would acknowledge this incredible intimacy between them? But his eyes were closed, his features shuttered, as if he were deliberately blocking her out. He ground out something in Greek, and then began to pulse inside her.
She stroked the damp tendrils of his hair until his big body stopped shuddering, but she didn’t say anything, even then. She didn’t want to break the spell and risk shattering this fragile perfection. And anyway, what was a woman supposed to say in a situation like this? That it had been the best thing which had ever happened to her? Wasn’t that the kind of statement they warned you never to say to a man after the first time?
But in the end, it seemed she didn’t have to say anything because he got up from the bed without a word and disappeared into the bathroom and when he returned, there was no sign of the condom, just the faint smell of soap. And if Grace hadn’t been lying in bed feeling so ravished and replete—she might almost have thought she’d imagined the whole thing. Because, despite the fact he was naked as he walked over to a tray of bottles, Odysseus seemed utterly composed.
No.
Not composed.
Remote.
Grace sat up a bit and stared at his expressionless features.
‘Drink?’ he suggested coolly, snapping on a light so that the room was instantly bathed in a soft, apricot glow.