A Greek Escape(61)

‘I called you an angel once,’ he said hoarsely, looking down at her from where he was standing, unashamed and magnificent in his glorious nakedness. ‘But I was wrong. You’re a she-devil.’ It was said with a curious tremor in his voice.

‘And you…’ she whispered, her body pulsing as he finished sheathing himself—not taking any chances this time—and came back to join her ‘…are the devil incarnate.’

‘Yes,’ he murmured, his voice humorously soft against her lips.

But she didn’t care, because she was on fire for him, burning up in a conflagration of need and wanting and desire.

Skilfully and with controlled deliberation he slid down her body, anointing her skin with kisses, although his body was taut with his own need and his breathing was as ragged as hers.

Their hunger was too demanding for much foreplay. As he moved above her, positioning himself to take her, Kayla welcomed his hard invasion, her legs opening for him like silken wings for the sun.

His sliding into her was an ecstasy she couldn’t have imagined and she lifted her hips to accommodate him, a small cry spilling from her lips.

His penetration was deep, with each successive thrust taking him deeper, until he was filling her, stretching her, turning her into a being of mindless, unparalleled sensation where nothing else mattered but the union of their two bodies.

She was riding with him, being taken to a place where only the two of them existed—a rapturous world of feeling and sharpening senses that grew into a mountain of exquisitely unbearable pleasure, urging her upwards to its summit. And suddenly as she reached the top the mountain started to explode, and she cried out from the pleasure that was bursting all around her. She was falling, tumbling in a freefall of interminable sensation, clinging to the man she never wanted to let out of her arms, part of him, belonging to him, as he tumbled with her through the sensational universe.

When she came back to earth she was sobbing uncontrollably, all her pent-up feelings for him released by the shattering throbs of her orgasm.

Some time afterwards, when her sobs had subsided, Leonidas asked, ‘Are you all right?’

She was lying in the crook of his arm and the warm velvet of his chest was damp from her tears.

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ Kayla murmured, and rolled away from him, unable to tell him why she had wept. If she did, then he would know, and she didn’t want to admit it to herself. So she stayed where she was, on her side, with her legs drawn up, not wanting to face the truth or the reality of what had just happened.

Leonidas woke shortly before dawn.

Kayla was still lying with her back to him, as far over on her side of the bed as it was possible to get. With a crease between his eyes, Leonidas slipped quietly out of bed, so as not to disturb her, and went to take a shower.

When he returned, wearing a dark robe, she was still sleeping, but now lying on her back. What little make-up she’d been wearing last night was smudged—either from his over-zealous treatment of her or from crying, he remembered uneasily—and her hair was alluringly tousled from making love.

Unable to help himself, he stooped to press his lips lightly to her forehead. She stirred slightly, her brow furrowing as though her dreams were troubled.

‘Leon…’

He wasn’t sure, from her soft murmur, whether that was what she’d said, but if it was it wasn’t meant for the man who had made love to her last night. Not Leonidas Vassalio, corporate chairman and billionaire. Not after the way she had cried after they had made love.

She didn’t trust him or even like him, and she despised herself for wanting him. Why else would she have shed tears of such bitter regret when she’d been overtaken—as he had—by their mutual passion last night?

It was his fault for thinking in the beginning that he could have a casual fling with a girl like her and that keeping the truth from her wouldn’t matter. Nor had he been right in thinking he could bend her to his will in making her come here to try and get her to want him as she had in Greece. She was never likely to. She was hurting, and he had never intended that.

What was that old adage? he pondered distractedly, moving away from the bed. If you loved something, you had to let it go. If it came back to you, it was yours. If it didn’t, it never would be.

But what he felt for this beautiful, bewitching girl wasn’t love, he thought, steeling himself against any emotion. Not as she deserved it. And she certainly wasn’t his. So wasn’t it time to let her go?