Page 27 of Virgin's Night with the Greek

‘No time,’ she replied with an evasive shrug. ‘No opportunity. With everything I’ve got going on health-wise I am not the world’s greatest catch. Although this weekend might change that. Does this plane of yours have a bed?’

‘Yes.’

‘We could make use of it.’

His dark eyes gleamed. ‘We land in fifteen minutes.’

‘And?’

‘We’re going to need hours.’

A bolt of heat speared through her at that and a wave of desire washed over her but somehow she made herself ignore it all. ‘Then you’d better tell me about your brothers and sisters instead.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

INRESPONSETOher suggestion, Leo gave Willow a brief potted history of each of his five siblings—focusing on their roles in the business, rather than much in the way of the personal—which did not make for sparkling conversation but did at least keep his mind off the bed in the cabin at the rear of the plane. It was also a vastly preferable topic of conversation than his previous relationships.

He couldn’t work out why he’d allowed so many questions to be asked before he’d finally had the presence of mind to shut her down. Insights into their respective feelings about romance—or lack thereof, in his case—had no place in what they were doing here. He’d never shared such personal information with any of the women he slept with, either before or after his father’s untimely demise. Yet Willow had moved and her right breast had very nearly come free of her dress and he’d become so preoccupied with not leaping to her side of the table, not putting his hands on her to find out if she was braless, as he suspected, that he’d answered her questions without a second thought.

If he were prone to flights of fancy he’d have assumed she’d cast some sort of spell over him or slipped a drug into his coffee, but he wasn’t so he didn’t. Instead, as they came in to land, he pulled himself together and reminded himself that this weekend was principally about Willow and her exploring her sexuality.

As he’d informed her earlier, she’d be in charge. It was strange how comfortable he was with that, given his bone-deep need for control, but then the exception he was making for her was a very brief, very minor one. Experience suggested that with her, the results would be stunning. The cost to himself, he was confident, would be zero.

There was no way in hell he was going to repeat the mistakes he’d made before. He was better than the sickeningly self-centred, thoughtless beast he’d briefly turned into the night of his sister’s wedding. He’d learned his lesson and he’d use this weekend to prove it to himself and get things back on track. He had a plan, his resolve was rock-solid, and this time, nothing, absolutelynothing, was going to go wrong.

As Leo turned off the main road and steered the car down the long windy track to the house, Willow thought that if they didn’t arrive at their destination soon she might well explode with need. With every moment that ticked by her imagination grew that little bit wilder, the conversation they’d had on the plane about his family an increasingly distant and blurry memory.

As a result, by the time they passed through a pair of giant gates and travelled up a wide, sweeping drive, desire was bubbling up inside her like a pot on the boil. Her pulse was thundering like a steam train and her ears were buzzing from the pressure.

This was it, was the only thought drumming through her head. Her moment for fireworks and glory and vanquishing her fear of sex. The moment she’d never thought she’d be brave enough to seize.

It was only when he brought the car to a smooth stop in front of the large shadowy structure that the nerves unexpectedly kicked in and an insidious voice in her head suddenly started whispering.

But what if it isn’t? What if he’s wrong? What if you try and try and it still doesn’t work? What would that mean for the future? A lifetime alone? Or what if itdoeswork but it isn’t as good as you’re anticipating? Has it crossed your mind that chemistry might not be enough, that with your inexperience the sex might be mediocre? And if it is, how humiliating would that be?

Leo killed the engine and exited the car, leaving Willow to sit there stock still, the questions clattering around her skull obliterating the desire and quickening her pulse. Her lungs were tightening from the crushing pressure she could feel pressing in on her on all sides and she found she was struggling for breath.

Shakily, she got out of the car, leaned back against it and inhaled the warm salty air until her racing heart slowed and she could once again breathe. While Leo popped the boot and extracted their bags, she took a moment to stare up at the vast canopy of stars above, to listen to the soft, soothing rush of the sea, her jangling nerves quieting and her jumbled thoughts clearing.

Only a moment ago all she’d wanted was to head for a bedroom as fast as possible with the man whose confidence and certainty had blasted her objections to smithereens, who’d promised her a weekend of discovery, a weekend to remember.

But now she was wondering if there was any particular need to be quite so hasty. Maybe the frenzied desperation that had characterised their last encounter had been the trouble. Desire had a habit of erupting without warning. Their kisses became blistering within seconds. On the dance floor... In the lift... So perhaps this time, seeing as how theyhadtime, they’d be wise to take things slowly, to deal with the heat cautiously as it ebbed and flowed instead of instantly succumbing to it and drowning.

A bag in each hand, Leo strode to the front door and opened it. Willow pushed herself off the car and followed him on in. After dumping the luggage, he shut the door behind them and voice activated the lights, then turned to her and said, ‘What would you like to do first?’

She took a deep breath and willed him to understand. ‘I think I’d like a tour.’

If he was being brutally honest, a tour of the house was not what Leo had imagined giving Willow on arrival at his estate. But he’d seen her staring up at the infinite sky as she’d leaned against the car, breathing deeply and steadily. He’d sensed her tension as she’d stood there in the hall, looking a little pale, and if a tour would settle her apparent nerves, then that was what he’d do. The last thing he wanted was to dive right in, guns blazing, as they were wont to do, and the night to go wrong again. She’d be out the door in a flash and nothing would have been resolved.

As he showed her around the spacious interlinked rooms of the ground floor, she oohed and aahed her appreciation of the space, while he fought the memories of how she’d made similar noises the night she’d come apart in his arms before it had imploded.

In the sitting room, in response to her questions about the house, he muttered something about the appeal of the bright white walls, the clean lines and sharp angles of the unfussy modern building and the serenity and seclusion of the location, and resisted the urge to pull her down with him onto the soft deep sofa.

By the time he stood aside at the vast glass sliding doors so she could step out of the house and onto the terrace that stretched out high and wide above the sea, his muscles were rigid with the effort of keeping his distance and his head was pounding.

‘I bet the views are stunning by day,’ she murmured, leaning her elbows on the railing, her body all long lines and soft curves.

‘They are.’

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