Page 48 of Greek's Temporary Cinderella

Though he had known he must be infinitely gentle, now it was impossible to deny his body the fulfilment it sought when it had found so perfect a union with her, so absolute a fusion.

Her hands cradled the nape of his neck and she smiled at him.

‘No more can I,’ she said, and as if a bow had been released she arched her spine, her fingers flexed into his nape. Her head was going back. Face transformed.

She cried out—but not with pain. Never that—never again. With an ecstasy that pierced him to the core he felt her convulse around him, and in that moment came his.

Fusion upon fusion, they held each other as their flesh became one. As they became one...

Eliana lay in Leandros’s arms. It was the sweetest place to be in all the world. Her hand was splayed upon his chest, the other wound around his waist. Their thighs mingled, tangled. His arm curved along her spine, holding her close to him, his other cradled her head against his shoulder.

They did not speak. There was no need to. No need for words. Only for this moment, this time, held in each other’s arms in the velvet darkness of the night.

So much filled her. So much she could not believe her heart could hold it all. It flowed from her, enveloping him, encompassing him, binding him to her.

For this moment. For this time. For now.

This now was everything to her. All the world and more.

She was in the arms of the man she loved.

But she must lose him again.

A cry of protest rose within her, silent and imploring.

But not yet—not yet. Grant me this time—this precious time—before I must break my heart again.

She had been granted time. That much had been given to her.

A week.

A week in which to live out a lifetime of her love for him.

‘Time for our treats,’ announced Leandros. ‘Lunch was a long time ago!’ He pointed to a nearby bench. ‘What about that spot?’

‘Perfect,’ said Eliana. She looked around as they headed for the bench. ‘I had no idea the Luxembourg gardens were so vast!’ she exclaimed.

Everywhere there were vistas, a mix of formal gardens and more natural—even an orchard.

‘Over sixteen hectares,’ answered Leandros, quoting from the tourist guide.

They settled down on the bench at the edge of the gravelled pathway. Across the gardens they could hear the happy laughter and glee of children enjoying the rides and slides, and from their bench they could see the huge stone pond, where toy boats were being sailed.

Leandros undid the ribbons around the box of patisserie he’d been carefully carrying since they’d availed themselves of a convenient boulangerie after lunch. The good weather was holding, and he was glad, but autumn was on the way. The sun was not as warm, and the leaves of the trees in the gardens were visibly beginning to turn.

But for now it was pleasant—very pleasant indeed—to sit here, legs outstretched, crossed at the ankles, his feet in comfortable trainers for all the walking he and Eliana were doing as they made their daily explorations of the city.

Contentment filled him. How could it not?

He smiled at Eliana. She was wearing lightweight trousers in dark blue, and a lightweight knit with a vee neck that showed off the delicate sculpture of her neck. Her hair was caught back with a barrette, her make-up only lip gloss and mascara. Yet his breath caught at her beauty.

With so much more than her beauty.

She was leaning forward, lifting the lid of the cardboard box holding the patisserie.

‘The religieuse for me,’ she said decisively, helping herself to the choux and crème confection, sinking her teeth into it as she sat back to enjoy what France was so famous for.

‘I’ll take the mille-feuille,’ Leandros said, and did so.

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