Page 31 of Reclaimed By His Billion-Dollar Ring

And in them she saw what she must not accept, must not acknowledge. Must not permit.

Instinctively she moved away. She saw the dark outline of the path that led off the terrace, away from the light, away from the party...away from Nikos. It offered refuge from him, from the pulse of her own veins, the fire stealing her senses and her sense.

The sound of the cicadas in the lush, irrigated vegetation was loud in her ears as the noise of the party dimmed. All around, the heady scent of jasmine infused her senses. A little way along, the path widened into a miniature terrace, only a few metres square, with a stone bench at one side. She sank down on it, looking out towards the night-black sea, still feeling that heady pulse in her veins, the flicker of fire that she could not put out.

Footsteps on the path leading to the little terrace stayed her. A figure emerged. Tall and dark. Only the white of his jacket visible in the starlight. Her breath caught.

‘Calanthe...’ said Nikos.

His voice was as velvet as the night.

She did not move, and yet he heard the low intake of her breath, saw her eyes going to his in the dim light spilling through the leaves from the party above.

He walked towards her, his pace unhurried.

She got to her feet, stood there as if poised for flight. But she made no move.

Her eyes had flared wide...her lips had parted. She stood stock-still, as still as a marble column, in her ivory silk gown, her arms slender, her throat exposed, hair in tendrils around her face.

He lifted a hand to her, his fingers drifting with infinite slowness down the smooth length of her bare arm, and took her nerveless hand in his. He felt her tremble at his touch. His gaze burned into her widened eyes. Her lips were still parted. Motionless. And she was so exquisitely beautiful that his muscles clenched, holding his body taut.

Slowly, infinitely slowly, he drew drifting fingers down her other arm, took her other hand in his, hearing another intake of her breath. Her hands were warm and trembling in his clasp.

‘Nikos...’

It was a breath of air, no more than that. A whisper. A plea.

‘Don’t—please...please don’t...’

He gazed down at her.

‘Don’t what, Calanthe?’

His voice was husky now, his whole body held under such control that it racked him.

‘Don’t tell you how beautiful you are? How I desire you?’ That half-smile, mocking himself, twisted at his mouth again. ‘I wanted you then, all those years ago—and I want you now.’

He felt his want rise within him, flushing his veins like a slow, ineluctable tide, infusing his senses. The scent of jasmine was drowning the perfumed air. From above, the low throb of music pulsed.

He saw her eyes dip closed, then open again, with a new pleading in them.

‘Nikos—I can’t. I won’t—’ She broke off and half turned away, drawing one hand away from his.

With his freed hand he cupped her averted cheek, felt her skin like satin.

‘Don’t turn away.’ The huskiness was stronger now, the self-control more urgent. ‘Don’t turn away from this. From what this is. From what has always been between us. From the very first...’

Slowly, carefully, he turned her to look at him again. Her eyes were flared so wide he could see into their depths. See, with a stab of triumph, the distension of her pupils.

Her words might deny him.

Her body could not...

He said her name again, husky and lingering. Bent his mouth to hers. Felt the tender softness of her lips. She made no resistance and triumph came again. But it dissolved even as it came, liquefying into desire, drumming at his senses, flooding his blood, his brain, with its power and potency.

All evening he’d seen her, so near and yet so far. He’d known he would close in on her. Known that was the reason he was here at all. Known it was his purpose. His intent.

And now...now it was happening. He was claiming her back...

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