Page 25 of The Greek Tycoon's Unwilling Wife

‘Is there—?’

‘No!’ she said firmly and hastily—too firmly, too hastily so that instead of putting his mind at rest it put him more on edge than ever. ‘No—there’s no one.’

‘Are you sure?’

That brought her head round, dark hair flying, chin coming up defiantly as she met his assessing stare head-on.

‘Of course I’m sure!’ she declared. ‘There is no man in my life but you!’

It was what he most wanted to hear, so why did he sense something like the crawl of small, icy feet down his spine in spite of the heat?

‘Good,’ he said, reaching out to touch a hand to her cheek and hold her there, sea-coloured eyes locked with black. ‘Just make sure it stays that way. I have exclusive rights to my women. You’re mine and only mine…’

Under the touch of his fingers her face jerked just once as if in rejection of his comment. Her eyes opened wide and that determined little chin lifted even higher.

‘You don’t have any rights to me—not yet.’

‘Not yet,’ Andreas agreed, a slow, appreciative smile curling his mouth. She was gorgeous when she was like this—wonderfully sexy with the mutinous spark that lit those fantastic eyes, the wash of colour that flooded her cheeks. ‘I know—we’re taking this slowly…being sensible.’

He drawled out the word deliberately, putting every ounce of contempt he could into each syllable.

‘But not for long. I could make you forget about that need for caution you think is so important.’

Another jerk of her chin, a lift of her smoothly arched brows, challenging the truth of his assertion, making his smile widen ever more.

‘You know I could,’ he murmured softly, leaning even closer so that his mouth was just inches away from the soft, rebellious pout of her lips. ‘It would only take a minute. Not even that.’

She had frozen now, nothing moving but her eyes as they watched him warily, waiting to see what he would do next.

‘All I’d have to do is to lean forward, just the tiniest little bit…’

He suited the action to the words, only just catching the tiny faint sound of her swiftly indrawn breath as he did so. Her eyes widened just a little bit more but she stayed where she was, though the pink tip of her tongue slid out and slicked over her lower lip in an uneasy, betraying gesture.

The movement and the slight film of moisture it left on her mouth was a temptation that Andreas couldn’t resist. He’d waited too long for the taste of her mouth on his all over again. He wanted it again and he wanted it now.

Reaching up a hand, he curled it round the back of her head, fingers sliding into the silky dark hair, cupping the fine bones of her skull as he drew her near to him and took her mouth. Her lips were as soft and delicious as they had been before and she yielded to him with a soft murmur that made his senses give a hard, painful kick in response.

To hell with being sensible. This was what he wanted. What he needed. Her mouth opened under his and with a sense of triumph he moved in closer.

And felt the faint, unmistakable shiver that ran through her body as she fought for control. It was there and gone again in the space of a heartbeat but he had felt it and recognised it for what it was.

He could kiss her out of it, he knew that. It wouldn’t take much; she would be his if he only insisted, pressed a little more. But it was the fact that she had reacted in that way, that she still felt that restraint she talked about that stopped him dead in his tracks. She was still determined to keep him at arm’s length for her own personal reasons. And that realisation destroyed the sensual mood completely.

With a savagely muttered curse in his own language he wrenched his mouth away from hers, pulling his head back to stare down into her dark, shocked eyes.

‘Andreas…’ Becca began and the shake on the sound of his name was the last straw.

Swearing brutally, he tore himself away from her, taking several swift, strong and almost blind strides across the tiled surround of the pool and diving head first into the cool water, plunging way down into the clear blue depths, driving himself as hard and as far as he could.

Becca watched him go through eyes that were blurred with sudden tears. She knew what had made him react like this, the tiny shudder of panic she hadn’t been able to control, but that didn’t mean that she understood quite what state of mind had influenced him. Was it fury—cold-blooded anger at the way that she was still determined to hold on to the idea of being sensible? Or was it an attempt to cool himself off literally?

Whatever his feelings were, they were wild and fierce and he was having to fight to bring them under control. That much was obvious from the way he was powering down the swimming pool, face down, black hair clinging to his skull, muscular arms and legs pushing him through the clear water at a speed that gave Becca a momentary pang of concern for any possible after-effects from the accident. The bruises from his injuries might be fading, but was it safe for him to subject himself to such a physical test?

But even as the worry crossed her mind she saw that Andreas was already slowing his furious pace. He eased up, continued to swim for a while but at a much more sedate speed and eventually came back to the side of the pool just beside where she stood. Slicking back his soaking black hair with a powerful hand, he supported himself on strong arms as he trod water, looking up into her watchful face, dark eyes narrowed against the sun.

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