Her Greek Groom: The Tycoon's Mistress / Smokescreen Marriage / His Forbidden Bride

Surprised and shamed at the physical fierceness of her response, Cressy gasped, her hands curling into impotent fists at her sides.

When he lifted his head he was smiling faintly. He reached for one small clenched hand and raised it to his lips with insolent grace.

His other hand slid down over her hip to her thigh, and lingered there suggestively.

He said softly, ‘Nothing has really changed between us, Cressida mou. Only the terms of our coming together. Shall I prove it to you? Show you exactly how much you still want me?’

Helpless colour warmed her face. She shook her head, staring down at the carpet, not daring to meet the intensity of his gaze. Scared of what else she might betray.

She had not bargained for the overwhelming force of instinct. But that could be harnessed, she told herself. Hidden.

For her own sake, she had to try.

She found herself impelled gently but inexorably into the bedroom. She began a last protest, but Draco laid a finger on her parted lips, silencing her.

He said, ‘I shall try not to keep you waiting too long.’

The door closed behind him, shutting her in. She stood, her arms wrapped defensively across her body, staring round.

It was a big room, and the bed was its dominant feature, wide and low, with a dark green cover tailored in heavy linen, matching the drapes at the windows.

A very masculine room, she thought, comfortable but impersonal. A suitable place for a bargain, but not for love. Never for love.

She walked across and tugged at the cords, swinging the curtains across to block out the brilliant sunlight. She wanted shadows, she thought. Shadows and darkness to hide in.

She needed, too, to blot out the searing memory of those other golden days on Myros when she had turned to him, eagerly offering her mouth—her body.

Her whole body seemed to stir in sudden yearning, and regret, and she stiffened, bringing her rebellious senses back under control once more. She could not allow herself such weakness.

Whatever Draco did to her—no matter how he made her feel—somehow she had to stay aloof—and endure.

Presently, she thought, I shall wake up and find all this was just a nightmare.

She looked back, dry-mouthed, at the bed, pain searing through her as she realised how different it could have been.

But she’d made her choice—a whole series of choices—and she had to live with the consequences. Starting now…

She left her clothes in the adjoining dressing room. The carpet was soft under her bare feet as she walked to the bed. The percale sheets felt crisp and cool against her burning skin as she lay tensely, waiting for the door to open.

Which, eventually, just as her nerves had reached screaming point, it did.

‘Shy, agapi mou?’ He was a dark shape at the end of the bed. He turned away, walking over to the windows and flinging back the drapes again, flooding the room with sudden light.

Draco came back to the bed. For a moment he stood staring down at her, then he reached down, twitching the covers from her outraged fingers and tossing them to the foot of the bed.

He said softly, ‘A man likes to look, as well as touch.’

Teeth set defiantly, Cressy withstood his lingering scrutiny, deliberately not covering herself with her hands, nor looking away, even when he began, almost casually, to remove his clothes.

Only when he came to lie beside her on the bed and drew her into his arms did she finally close her eyes, her body rigid against his naked warmth.

The scent of his skin, once so familiar and so precious, now admixed with a trace of some expensive cologne, pervaded her mouth and nose, so that she seemed to be breathing him, absorbing him into every atom of her consciousness.

She remembered one day on the beach, kissing his shoulder, tasting the heat of the sun and the salt of the sea on its curving muscularity. But she couldn’t afford those kind of memories. She had to lie still and unyielding—and hate. Resentment would be her only salvation.

But it wasn’t easy, not when his hands had begun to caress her, the warm fingers skimming over her flesh in exquisite, tantalising exploration.

As they softly brushed her taut nipples Cressy had to bite back a gasp, her body clenching in hot, shamed excitement.

Where his hands touched, his mouth followed. He kissed her breasts softly, his tongue unhurriedly circling each puckered rose peak in turn. Sensation, knife-sharp and honey-sweet, pierced through her, making her quiver and arch towards him involuntarily, and she felt his lips smile against her skin.

His hand parted her thighs and began to stroke her, delicately, subtly, making her moan and writhe against the intimate play of his fingers as they promised—tantalised—and then denied.

Every sense, every atom of consciousness was focused painfully on that tiny, pulsating centre of her being as she felt herself being drawn slowly and exquisitely to some undreamed of brink. As she felt her breath quicken and heard the frantic drumming of her own heart.

She made a small, wounded sound in her throat. A wordless plea for him—somehow—to end this beautiful torment.

‘Not yet.’ His tongue caressed the whorls of her ear. ‘Not yet, but—soon…’ And his hand moved fractionally, deepening the caress. Imposing a more compelling demand.

She was blind, deaf—mindless. Aware of nothing but the fierce concentration of pleasure that he was creating for her. As if the sun, beating against her eyelids, was blooming and growing inside her.

And when, at last, he gave her the release she craved, she cried out in harsh animal delight as ripple upon ripple of pure feeling engulfed her—convulsed her. As she was flung out into space, where she fell into the centre of the sun and was consumed.

She was totally relaxed, her body still throbbing with pleasure, as Draco moved above her, and, with one deep thrust, into her.

For a fleeting instant she was scared by the memory of pain, then shocked by its absence. Because now there was only joyous acceptance, and a sense of completion.

As if, she thought, this was the moment she had been made for.

She raised her languid lids and stared up at him, letting herself enclose him. Hold him.

Allowing herself to savour how alien it felt, yet at the same time how totally familiar—and precious.

The bronze face was stark, his eyes like pits of darkness as he began to move, slowly and powerfully, inside her.

Instinct lifted her hands to his shoulders and clasped her legs round his lean hips, so that she could partner him completely. Could mirror each compelling stroke.

As the rhythm and intensity increased, Draco groaned something in his own language. She kissed his throat, licking the salt from his skin, feeling the thunder of his pulse against her lips.

At the same time, deep within her, she was aware of the first flutterings of renewed delight. Incredulous, gasping, she held him closer, her sweat mingling with his as the spiral of pleasure tautened unbearably, then imploded.

Her whole body rocked as the tremors of rapture tore through her, echoed by the wild spasms of his own climax.

When it was over, he lay very still, his face against her breasts.

She wanted to hold him. To put her lips against the damp, dark tangle of hair and whisper that she loved him. That as he’d been the first, so would he be the last.

As his cherished bride, it would have been her right to open her heart to him. As his mistress—she sank her teeth into her swollen lower lip—she had no rights at all. And that was something she must never forget. That her role in his life was at best transient.