Page 15 of Forbidden Greek Mistress
She could still feel that kiss all over her, and worse, like some kind of muscle-deep memory within.
Just as she could feel those hard, blunt fingers deep inside her, claiming her and shattering her with a certain confident insistence that made her breathless to recall. More disconcerting by far, she could remember the way she’d clamped his handbetween her thighs and ridden him as if that was the only possible response she could have given.
As if she’d done the same thing a thousand times before. As if her body knew him, and wanted him, and was desperate to welcome him.
The implications of that…frightened her.
Or rather, overwhelmed her, because she didn’t want to think through those implications. She didn’t want to think about all the things her responses could mean. Or the way he’d spoken to her. Or that disconcerting way he looked at her, as if he was waiting for her to recognize him.
Selwen preferred that her life remain blank before Ffion. She had grown used to it. Shelikedit that way.
On the third day, she snuck out of her room in the early morning. Because she thought it was high time she moved her body a little bit, lest she become welded to the bed. She might not haveactuallyhad a migraine, but that wasn’t to say she felt good. Because she didn’t.
That terrible feeling, something like anxiety and vulnerability mixed through with shame, sat on her hard.
She walked down to the beach again in the sweet morning light. Once she walked down the steps, the breeze playing with her hair and tugging at her clothes, she frowned at the gleaming white sand as if it had personally betrayed her. Then she blew out a breath—wishing she could blow away her memories of the other night as easily—stuck her hands in her pockets, and walked along the shore with no particular aim or direction as she tried to come to terms with this terrible thing she’d done.
Because it was terrible, wasn’t it? On the very night that her engagement to one man had been announced she had been out in the darkness, losing herself in the arms of another.
Not just any other man, for that matter.His son.
“It’s like you’re starring in your very own soap opera,” she muttered to herself as she walked, because that was what she would have said to Ffion if she’d been here. Ffion, who had always maintained a deep attachment to her nightly soaps, would have been pleased with any extravagance but would have taken a dim view of any melodramatic behavior in her adopted niece.
Life is not the telly,she’d liked to say.
And she had strongly discouraged any telly-like behavior in her daily life.
The notion that she’d let Ffion down, even in death, made Selwen want to sob. Her eyes watered and she wiped at them furiously, because surely she didn’t deserve to cry when nothing had happened to her. She’d participated all on her own. That was the real problem.
That was what she was going to have to sit with.
She walked and walked, and only when she could no longer see the big villa on the hill from the waterline did she turn back around. She cut inland then, up and over a different set of stairs cut into the bluff. On the other side she found herself on what passed for a road on this island, an old dirt track better suited for carts and goats.
Now as she walked she could feel the sea all around, but could only glimpse it here and there, between the trees. She knew she was back on Pavlos’s estate when she began to see the outbuildings and little cottages, scattered here and there. Then the villa once more, taking over the horizon as she moved toward it.
She picked up her pace, happy that the walk had done its work and was making her feel a bit more like herself again—
But then she stopped dead.
Because there on the porch of the cottage directly before her, he was there.
Thanasis.
His name danced inside her like the breeze. Like a song.
She told herself it was a warning.
Selwen had the near-overwhelming urge to run. The same way she’d done that night. She could feel the adrenaline flood through her and she almost turned and set off, but something stopped her.
This was Pavlos’s son. Hisson,damn it. She couldn’t avoid him forever.
So instead of running, she squared her shoulders and marched straight toward him, instead.
She kept going until she reached the edge of his porch and then stopped there. Then glared at him as he sat there and did nothing but…lookat her.
There was nothing to do but return the favor.
The moonlight, it turned out, had told no lies about this man.
