Page 5 of Seasons of Sin

Where the heck in Athens was she? She tried to remember where they’d gone after the airport but it was mostly a blank. She had a brief impression of a stunning hotel. A boat? No. Surely not. It must have been a fast car. And she remembered being cradled against his broad, strong chest; almost asleep but awake enough to register how capable he was, and how safe she felt.

She lifted her forefingers to her temples and pressed against them, willing her head to stop bleating noisily at her.

“How do you feel?”

She startled and spun around far faster than was wise for someone in her fragile state.

Mr Kostanides was reclined with easy relaxation against the door jamb. He wasn’t wearing anything except a pair of black underpants. Saphire’s heart was pounding hard into her rib cage. He was so much better in the flesh than she’d dared to dream. His cinnamon-coloured tan was all-over. The previous evening his body had been concealed by a corporate shirt and pants. Now? Everything was on display. From the broad shoulders, to the rippling chest and strong, masculine legs. But most importantly, a certain part of his anatomy that she was trying her hardest not to stare at. Yet it was there and her cheeks flushed with a school-girl coyness.

“Oh, God,” she said softly and gripped the wall behind her. How had she ended up here?

“Just what I was thinking,” he murmured, his eyes doing an appraisal of their own.

Saphire shook her head, ignoring the sharp pain behind her eyes. “You’re hardly wearing anything.”

His smile was hot lava. “I’ve been for a run. And a swim. I’ve checked on you three times but you were snoring your little heart out.”

Her face paled. “Snoring!?” It was mortifying. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed. Her thirst was extreme.

“Beautiful, perfect snores that made your beautiful, perfect breasts lift and fall in a way that made me ache to wake you with far more than a kiss.”

Butterflies flipped her stomach on its side. “Mr Konstanides …”

He laughed. “This is what you would like to call me?”

Her cheeks flushed and she dropped her gaze. “I didn’t catch your name.”

There was something so incredibly sexy about her formal address that he didn’t supply it. “How do you feel?” He repeated his initial question and strolled with a lithe athleticism towards her.

“Crap,” she said honestly. “Like I drank a bar.”

“Not quite,” he consoled, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. “Though not for want of trying.”

“I’m so embarrassed,” she whispered, dropping those eyes so her long, fan-like lashes once again caressed her soft cheeks.

“Of what?” He prompted.

“I don’t usually, um, drink like that. Or talk to men. Men like you. Any men.” She furrowed her brow and a crinkle formed in the middle of her forehead. “Did you book this room for me?”

His smile told her nothing. He stared at her, and her tummy continued to flip and flop from side to side until she thought she was going to be sick.

“Because I don’t remember giving my card over.” A hot sweat broke over her skin. She had booked her ticket using theemergency credit card her parents had provided her with when she’d started at university. Saphire had intended to keep all expenditure out of the bank accounts she shared with Jordan. All the better for him to have no freaking clue where she was.

“You didn’t,” he assured her. “You were in no condition to do any such business.”

Her face blanched. “Please don’t remind me. I’m so ashamed. I was … I was stupid yesterday.”

“You were running from something.”

Her eyes widened. “Did I say that?”

He had been right! The satisfaction was dwarfed by curiosity. He dropped his hand from her cheek to her waist. “You did not need to. It was obvious to me.”

She swallowed. His fingers were burning through her dress. “I was upset,” she said factually. “But that’s no excuse. You could have … I mean … we didn’t …”

“Have sex?” He prompted, a smile tickling the corners of his lips.

She nodded jerkily.