Page 18 of The Greek Tycoon's Unwilling Wife

‘Oh, I feel sure that we will think of something.’

‘Like what?’ Becca demanded, eyeing him warily.

A note in his voice told her that the flirtatious mood of a short time before had not, as she had thought, evaporated when she’d called his bluff by heading for the door. In fact every instinct she had ever had where this man was concerned was screaming at her that the lazy sensuality of his smile was deceptive in its indolence. The black eyes might be hooded and partially hidden under heavy lids but she could see enough of the gleam in them to know that his thoughts were not on the idea of her taking care of him—in the nursing a convalescent meaning of the words, at least.

‘Like this,’ Andreas murmured with misleading softness and before she was even aware of the fact that he had anything planned, or could even think of taking any avoidance moves, he took several long, firm strides forward, covering the distance between them in a matter of seconds.

This time she had no warning. This time there was no change in his voice, no hint from the look in his eyes. This time he took her completely by surprise and so instantly had the upper hand, with total control over the situation.

‘Like this,’ he said again, low and rough.

His hand came under her chin, holding it tight. He lifted her face towards his and his mouth came down hard on hers, taking it in a burning, searing kiss that made her thought processes stop dead, then shatter into a million tiny fragments.

She couldn’t think; she could only feel. And what she felt was heat. The heat of his mouth, his breath on her skin. The heat of his arms coming round her, that long, powerful body so very close to hers. But it wasn’t just a physical heat that blazed through her. There was the burning fire of response, the sensation of her blood temperature climbing higher and higher with each accelerated beat of her heart. Her whole system was going into meltdown, her mind seeming to cease to exist, her nerves, her skin, even her bones becoming molten with desire so that she sagged against him, unable to hold herself upright, and it was only the strength of his support around her that kept her from collapsing in a trembling and abandoned heap right at his feet.

‘Andreas—’ she began against the pressure of his lips, but the attempt to speak, to try to form some sort of protest that she was incapable of sustaining, gave him the opportunity he was waiting for.

In the moment that her mouth partly opened, Andreas seized his chance and deepened the kiss with sensual deliberation. Her parted lips were crushed even more under the passion of his, his tongue sliding into the exposed warmth, the soft moisture, tangling with hers in an intimate dance that made her senses swoon, had her fingers closing over his arms, clenching tight.

But this time it wasn’t the need for support that had her holding him close, as close as she could. This time it was pure physical need that made her clutch at him this way. The need to feel his lean, hard frame against hers, feel the pressure of the strong bones of his chest, his ribcage against her breasts, the curve of his pelvis cradling her hips. And because of that closeness there was no way she could be unaware of the swell of his forceful erection, hot and hard against her, communicating need and passion in a way that no words ever could.

Cold need and heartless passion.

The icy little voice of reason slid into her mind, stopping the heat of her reaction dead, so fast that it made her head spin.

Andreas Petrakos was totally capable of coming on full and hard with his mouth, his tongue, his body, when no part at all of his mind was involved—and least of all his heart!

Hadn’t he shown that when he had brought her here the first time, just after their marriage? When he had brought her into the house, barely stopping to shut the door as he went through it. When he had kissed her as they mounted the stairs and taken her into the bedroom, his mouth practically welded to hers. And with his hands hotly, hungrily busy on her body, finding the fastenings of her clothing blind, dealing with them with rough haste, discarding them like a Hansel and Gretel trail leading from the hallway to his room.

And in that room he had made the hottest, most ardent, most passionate love in the world to her, waking a matching hunger in every inch of her quivering body, showing her pleasures she had never believed possible, taking her to heights of ecstasy she had never known before.

Before dropping her right down to earth again with a sickening, agonising thud, just a few, devastatingly short hours later. She still had the scars on her heart where his black cruelty had slashed into it.

And with the memory everything inside her froze in an instant. The rush of heat that had flooded her body ebbed away as fast—faster—than it had come, taking all the passion with it.

‘Becca?’

Andreas had sensed her withdrawal, her stillness, and his kisses stopped, adding another terrible sensation to the thousands of whirling feelings in Becca’s head and in her heart.

‘No…’

It was all that she could manage and it was just a whisper. A thin thread of sound that did nothing to express what she really felt deep inside: the searing agony of loss, the desperation of knowing that she was so weak—too weak—the bitter despair of knowing that Andreas had only to touch her, to kiss her and she had fallen into his arms, into his control like a foolish child, one that had not yet learned that fire burned—again and again and again.

---