Page 36 of The Billionaire's Demand

Safe from all the sorrows and difficulties of her life...from all the grief and the sacrifice, all the loss and heartache.

From all the guilt.

She went on dreaming. This was the sweetest dream she had ever had...

Light was filtering through the heavy drapes across the windows, slowly rousing Leandros to consciousness. But he did not want to wake. He was fine as he was...where he was. Just fine. His arm was over Eliana, and somehow his own body was cradling hers, separated from him only by the cotton of her nightgown. It felt good. So very, very good.

He hovered a while between sleeping and waking, but slowly the latter gained ground, as daylight played on his closed eyelids. He opened them, seeing first the glorious swathe of pale golden hair across the pillow, exposing the tender curve of Eliana’s neck. He could not resist it. He moved slightly to drop a kiss on her nape, as lightly as a feather.

Would it rouse her? He didn’t know—knew only that her limbs were starting to stretch languorously, her low breathing changing subtly. He stilled. Full consciousness came to him, and the memory of all that the night had brought.

He eased away from her, sliding out of his side of the bed, sitting for a moment, taking in all that had happened. His mind was unsure, uncertain.

He twisted his head, looked back at where Eliana had slipped back into sleep again, lying still. He could not see her face—he had been holding her from behind—only that glorious swathe of hair across the pillow and the tender nape he had just kissed.

For one moment longer he felt that uncertainty, confusion, hold on to his head. Then, with a decision he had not known he had already made, he let it fall away. Oh, it might still be there somewhere, ready to rise again, to pluck at him, disquiet him, but right now...

He got to his feet, walked across to the windows, drew back the drapes. Sunshine flooded in, mild and autumnal, filling the room. He glanced out of the window. The roofs of Paris stretched beyond...the whole city stretched beyond. Inviting and entrancing. He gave a smile. The day looked good.

He padded quietly from the room. Out in the drawing room he phoned through to the butler, ordering breakfast to be served. While he waited he went back into his bedroom, not disturbing Eliana, but whisking away the remains of their midnight milk and coffee, busying himself with the washing up, finishing just as breakfast arrived.

The aroma of fresh coffee filled the air, and of freshly baked croissants, rolls and pastries, along with the crisp tang of freshly squeezed orange juice. He thanked the butler, then dismissed him, wheeling the trolley carefully into his bedroom.

He paused by the bed. ‘Breakfast, madame, is served,’ he announced.

His voice was warm, and his mood, he knew, with a sudden lightening that came as a gift of the morning, of the day ahead, was the best he had known for a long time.

And it stayed good.

And he knew it would stay good all through the leisurely breakfast in bed he would have with Eliana beside him.

She stirred as he made his announcement, and groped herself up into a sitting position, pushing back her long, tangled hair and looking at him. Her expression was uncertain, and he knew that memory was piercing her too, that she didn’t know how she should be now, this morning after the night before.

He made it easy for her. Smiled down at her.

‘Let’s just have breakfast, shall we?’ he said.

And in those words were words unspoken—words that did not need to be spoken yet. He did not even know what they would be—what they should be. So as he didn’t know what those words should be, he set them aside, sticking to words he knew he could say...wanted to say.

‘It’s a glorious morning,’ he said. He paused. ‘Let’s just take things as they come.’

He’d said enough. He could see in her expression that she was glad of his words, for the sudden confusion and tension that had been there a moment earlier had ebbed away. In its place was a new expression, and one that caught at him.

Shyness.

As if finding herself in my bed is something she had not expected.

But then a rueful thought darted in him pointedly. There was a lot about Eliana that he had not expected.

He put it from him—he’d resolved not to go down that complex and confusing path. Not this morning...not this day.

He pulled the breakfast trolley against his side of the bed as he slid back in under the quilt, propping himself comfortably on his piled-up pillows.

‘OJ to start with?’ he asked, turning back to Eliana.

‘Oh, yes—thank you,’ she said.

She sounded a touch awkward, but he glossed it over. He didn’t want her feeling awkward, or shy, or feeling anything other than that it was good to be sitting with him, side by side, on this glorious morning, with all of Paris awaiting them for the day.

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