‘I can never thank you enough.’
He shook his head, his throat shifting, and she held her breath, waiting for him to say whatever he was obviously thinking, but instead, he offered a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Thank me by shouting my name as loud as you can,koukla. Shout it so loud he can hear it, all the way in Washington.’ And he dragged his mouth down her body, to her sex, and proceeded to make it impossible for her to do anything but what he’d suggested.
Over and over his name tripped from her tongue, a poem she was writing and feeling in her heart, both a joy and a burden. He drove her wild with his mouth, and then his hands, and then his mouth, before finally arranging her on the sofa so he could claim her from behind, his whole body intimately connected with hers as his hands came and clutched her breasts, before one roamed to her sex and made her halfway forget her own damned name. Even as he gave her such pleasure, over and over, she heard the words he’d spoken, and felt them like a blade in her side:Even when this is over.
And it just served to clarify for Genevieve the truth of her feelings. The problem wasn’t that she’d trusted someone with her heart, it was that she’d trusted the wrong someone. She’d given herself to a man who’d never deserved her. But Nikos was so different. He was her perfect other half, in every way, but it was almost impossible to imagine him recognising that, far less accepting it.
Though she knew she loved him, Genevieve was too proud to stay, if she was truly not wanted. Or perhaps it was that she was seeking breadcrumbs of affection, in the form of his trying to prolong this. Either way, when he said, later that afternoon, that they had reservations at another Athens hotspot, she found herself hesitating before saying, ‘Nikos, you’ve done so much for me. But he knows now, and I’m pretty sure he won’t be bothering me again. If you wanted…if you want to go back to the island, I won’t keep you here.’
His expression had barely shifted, except for a slight darkening in those stunning grey eyes of his. ‘He understands his situation, it’s true,’ he murmured. ‘But wouldn’t you like to have the fun of making him suffer now?’ he asked, lifting a single brow. ‘Every photo of us—of you, living your best life, with me—will be like the twisting of a knife. Don’t you think you deserve that?’
Genevieve’s agreement had nothing to do with James, though. Whatever Nikos might think, for Genevieve, it was simply a chance to spend more time with Nikos. To lose herself to him, in the hope—albeit a very, very small one—that the more they were together, the more he would see that he deserved this second chance. That the grief he was stubbornly clinging to, the guilt he insisted he must wallow in, were an insult to his late wife, a cruelty to himself, and a deprivation to Genevieve.
‘Yes,’ she said, simply, and his smile was her reward.
‘Then get dressed,’ he said, pulling her against his body. ‘And let me have the pleasure of watching you.’
Her heart rushed against her ribcage. ‘It will be the same dress I wore last night,’ she said, with a lift of one shoulder.
‘Believe me, I barely notice the clothes you have on—most of my energy is spent imagining how quickly I can remove them.’
Heat flushed her cheeks as he led her to the shared master bedroom, and, rather than watching her get ready, he chose to help her undress, kiss her all over, before slowly, tantalisingly sliding the red slip in place. But as he did so, he removed her lace thong, his eyes clashing with hers.
‘For me,’ he said, and the heart that was already rushing began to gallop so hard it hurt.
After dinner, when they were back in the limousine, but not yet moving, he pulled her into his lap so her legs straddled him and undid his trousers, eyes hooked to hers as he freed his arousal and said, ‘Fuck me, Genevieve.’
‘Oh, God,’ she groaned, doing exactly that, easing herself over his length and crying out as he filled her so completely and his hands massaged her bottom. His mouth sought her breasts, which were at his mouth’s height, but, impatient to taste her, he pulled at the dress she wore, tearing it easily with his enormous hands, so she made a half-laughing sound of surprise.
‘I suppose I’ll have to go to dinner naked from now on.’
He grinned as he took one of her nipples in his mouth. ‘Sounds fine by me.’
But the next morning, after breakfast, she became aware of the yacht’s staff moving to and from the gangplank, and when she went to look, with natural curiosity, she saw they were carrying bags and bags, emblazoned with famous fashion labels, as well as hat boxes and shoe boxes. She whirled around to face him, shaking her head. ‘Nikos…’
‘I felt bad about the dress,’ he said, pulling her sharply against his body, so she could tell instantly that he didn’t feel a single bit bad about anything that had happened in the car the night before.
‘How bad?’ she murmured, eyes raking his.
‘Awful.’ His grin told a totally different story.
‘Care to make it up to me?’
Hours later, naked in his bed, Genevieve pushed up onto her elbow, a feeling growing inside her that she wanted to share, but was almost too nervous to voice. And yet, they’d been so intimate, and he’d taught her so much. Surely there was nothing she couldn’t ask of him.
‘What is it?’ he asked, reaching out and indolently flicking one of her nipples, so she bit her lower lip between her teeth. His eyes fell to the gesture, his eyes darkening as he moved swiftly to claim her mouth with his own, and to drag her lower lip between his teeth.
But she was shy suddenly, too shy to say the words. Instead, she pulled away and moved her body over his, kissing his chest and then moving lower, to his hips, her eyes flicking to his frequently, to see how he was reacting. Anxiety spread through her, until she couldn’t bear it. He’d kissed her most intimate places so often—several times a day, when they’d been together—he’d driven her wild with his mouth, and she’d yet to do the same to him.
And she knew why.
James’s voice had been in her mind. His criticism of her, his derision when she’d tried, had made her too shy to try again.You’re like a cold fish. This is boring.
But with Nikos, she wanted, desperately, to take him in her mouth. To feel him there and to see him lose control the way she so often did because of his ministrations.
She reached his hip bone and pressed kisses along the ridge there, her eyes flicking to his again, to see dark colour spreading across his cheeks, his expression so still, and watchful.
‘Koukla,’he said, with a small shift of his head. She bit into her lip, and his hand moved, cupping her cheek then swiping across her lip, before his thumb pushed between her lips, his eyes following the gesture. ‘You don’t have to do this.’
