A Passionate Surrender

‘I’d prefer to have a room of my own.’

His expression didn’t change. ‘No.’

Resentment flared. ‘What do you mean…no?’

‘I would have thought my answer held sufficient clarity.’

‘I don’t want to sleep with you.’

‘Perhaps not…tonight,’ he amended silkily, and caught the flicker of pain in those deep blue eyes before it was successfully hidden.

‘Not any night!’

‘Brave words, Ana.’

He moved ahead of her with indolent ease, her bag in hand, and she watched in silence as he entered the master suite only to emerge seconds later empty-handed.

She wanted to rail against him, hating the power he possessed and her inability to retaliate in kind. She was caught in a web, tied to him by the child she’d conceived, and held there by family loyalty.

‘Go to hell, Luc,’ she evinced bitterly as he drew level.

He paused, and caught hold of her chin, tilting it so she had little option but to meet his steady gaze. ‘Careful, pedhaki mou. I might be tempted to take you there.’

Her eyes widened at the silkily voiced threat, and her lips shook slightly as his hand slid to cup her cheek. ‘I don’t scare easily.’

The edge of his mouth quirked. ‘One of your admirable qualities.’ He released her and moved towards the head of the stairs.

He would, she knew, check with Petros for any messages, make the required calls, scan his electronic mail, and deal with the urgent stuff…all of which could take half an hour, or more.

It gave her time…to do what? Settle in? The thought was laughable.

Ana entered the master bedroom and came to a halt a few steps into the large room. Nothing had changed…had she really expected it to?

The king-size bed with its dark, richly patterned duvet and numerous pillows was a focal point. Furniture comprised matching sets of multi-layered chest of drawers in varying heights, and there were dual ensuites, dual walk-in wardrobes. A deep-cushioned sofa and a chaise longue completed a room that was designed for comfort and pleasure.

Sensual pleasure.

A feathery sensation scudded the length of her spine, and she cursed beneath her breath as memories of what she’d shared with Luc in this room rose damnably to the surface.

Vivid, sexually electrifying, and shameless.

Dear heaven. How could she slip beneath those covers and pretend everything was the same?

It didn’t bear thinking about. Yet she had to face the situation.

But not tonight, she determined as she crossed to the upholstered stool at the foot of the bed, caught up her bag and retreated to another room, where she unpacked an oversized T-shirt, toiletries, then crossed to the adjoining en suite.

She should phone her father, then her sister to let them know she was home. Although if either opted to call, it would be to her cellphone, and there was time enough tomorrow to apprise them both of her return.

Now all she wanted to do was undress and slip into bed. Although there were too many thoughts chasing through her brain to promote an easy slide into sleep.

She was wrong. The events of the day, the flight, each took their toll, and combined with the effects of pregnancy ensured she was asleep within minutes of her head touching the pillow.

Ana woke slowly, drifting pleasantly towards consciousness, unaware for a few disoriented seconds of her whereabouts.

Then it all came flooding back…the flight, Sydney, Luc.

Her eyes widened as she recognised the master suite, the large bed…and the familiar dark-haired male head resting on the pillow beside her own.

How could she be here when last night…?

‘You were asleep.’ Luc’s voice was an indolent drawl, and her gaze became trapped in his for a few heart-stopping seconds, then he shifted, moving that powerful frame into a sitting position with fluid ease.

Ana closed her eyes, then opened them again. There was too much warm olive-toned flesh moulded into enviable shape by muscle and sinew.

The smattering of chest hair made her fingers itch to tangle there, and she longed to reach up and curl her hands round his nape and drag his mouth down to hers.

Except she did none of those things. Instead anger rose to simmer beneath the surface as she sought to inch away from him.

‘You have no right—’

‘Yes, I do.’ He lifted a hand and brushed back a swathe of hair from her cheek.

She scrambled to the side of the bed, only to have him reach out and halt her flight.

‘Let me go!’

‘No.’

She lashed out at him, and struggled wildly as he pulled her onto his lap. Not a good position, she discovered. She was too close, much too close. And the dictates of her brain were at variance with the demand of her senses.

The thought of succumbing was more than she could bear, and she stilled, aware that fighting him was a futile exercise.

‘Don’t.’ The single negative held a beseeching anguish. ‘Please.’

It was the heartfelt plea that got to him, and he caught her chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting it to examine her features.

Her eyes were deep enough to drown in, their emotions stark with a vulnerability that twisted his gut, and his gaze narrowed at the fast-beating pulse drumming at the base of her throat.

Her mouth shook a little, and he watched as she sought control. But it was the shimmering moisture in her eyes, and the single escaping tear running in a slow rivulet down one cheek that tore a husky imprecation from his lips.

With incredible gentleness he smoothed the moisture with his thumb, then he lowered his head and trailed his mouth over her cheek.

He let the palm of one hand slip down her arm and settle against the curve of her waist.

Their child grew there, a tiny embryo that would succour and gain strength. Its existence touched him as nothing else could.

‘Come share my shower.’