The Ruthless Greek's Virgin Princess. Trish Morey

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СКАЧАТЬ sighed and folded his arms behind his head, restless and dissatisfied, wanting to put all thoughts of her out of his head and failing as another snippet from tonight’s encounter wormed its way into his mind. She’d said she’d thought him a family man. Maybe long ago he had been. But that was before he’d learned what families expected of their own.

      And even though he’d never married Elena in the end—not after that night—the relief had been short-lived, the ensuing financial fallout consuming all his attention. It had taken years of working alongside Rafe to recover the family fortune, years when he’d pushed himself mentally in order to come up with the kind of deals that would garner millions, years in which he’d pushed himself physically, spending hours in the gym, honing muscles that would keep his body as exercised as his mind. And all those years there had been no time for women in his life, unless they came with a warm body, a cold heart and a definite use by date.

      No, marriage and family had no place on his list of priorities.

      None whatsoever.

      He was already taking breakfast when she came down. Marietta hesitated before stepping out onto the vine-covered terrace, needing a moment to gather her thoughts while she took in the picture of Yannis sitting at the table with his back to her, sipping his coffee and reading the papers.

      She considered turning around and withdrawing—she could always get something delivered to her room—had half convinced herself to do so, when he seemed somehow to sense her presence and look over his shoulder. Only for a second, but he’d seen her. The cold acknowledgment in his eyes had been enough to tell her that. And she knew that if she disappeared now, it would look as if she was running away. He’d already accused her once of being afraid. She would not give him the satisfaction of thinking so again.

      So instead she steeled her shoulders and pushed herself from her vantage point, the kitten heels of her sandals clicking rhythmically as she crossed the tiled terrace. In a world suddenly shrunken to this one shaded terrace and the man occupying it, the noise seemed bold. Therapeutic. Necessary.

      For why should she shrink away and make a quiet approach? She had nothing to be ashamed of. She’d made an embarrassing mistake when she was just a teenager, she’d accepted it and got on with her life. She’d dealt with it. He was clearly the one with the problem.

      ‘Buongiorno,’ she called, determined to be upbeat and not show him how much she wished she could avoid another encounter with him and so soon. ‘What a perfect day for a wedding.’

      And it was. Above them the sky was an endless blue, while the sun cast jewels upon the azure sea beneath, with only the shard of rock known as Iseo’s Pyramid, the remnants of an ancient caldera, slicing through the perfect water.

      She turned her back from the view and sat down opposite him, her bravado not extending to trusting herself to meet his eyes. And yet something, whether it be curiosity, mere impulse, or a compulsion she had no way of fighting, made her lift her gaze to his face.

      She should have known he would be looking at her.

      For a moment their eyes connected, almost fused, before she managed to tear her eyes away and instruct the maid who had just appeared to fill her coffee cup, grateful for the diversion.

      ‘Sleep well?’ she asked, some inner minx determined to provoke him, anything not to let him see how much he rattled her. She hadn’t, and it had taken her some time this morning to repair the damage of a broken sleep. And if the tightness around his eyes was any indication…

      He folded the newspaper he’d been reading and sat back in his chair, planting his hands behind his head. Lazy movements, every one of them, and yet every one of them compulsive viewing. ‘I slept fine.’

      ‘Excellent,’ she said, smiling too enthusiastically. If she’d needed a reminder of the width of his chest or the muscled firmness of his torso, he’d just given it to her. Along with a glimpse of olive skin with just a dusting of dark hair in the vee at his open-necked shirt. ‘I’m so pleased.’ She pounced on the yoghurt, drizzling on some island honey and declining an offer of pastries and bread. ‘I’m meeting Sienna at ten,’ she offered by way of an explanation that wasn’t needed other than to give her mind something neutral to focus on. ‘I don’t have long.’

      ‘Wouldn’t you be better having a decent breakfast?’

      ‘There’s something indecent about yoghurt and honey? I never realised.’

      She lifted the spoon to her mouth, aware that he was watching her every move, and a flash of annoyance was replaced by another, more sinful, urge.

      Let him watch.

      She paused, her lips slightly parted, her eyes half closed in anticipation, before she fully opened her mouth and swept the thick creamy yoghurt from the spoon.

      There was definitely something indecent about her mouth. As he watched, a speck of honey clung to one lip, a tiny dew drop that caught the sun and glistened gold, and he had to fight every part of himself to remain in his chair and not lean over and remove it himself. If only he could work out how to do it without her knowing. He was still watching, mesmerised, when the tip of her pink tongue emerged and licked it from lips that settled back into a smile.

      She might well have licked him. Electricity sizzled its way south as he remembered a time when she had. Virgin that she was, tentative though it had been, she’d touched him with her tongue. Tasted him.

      And it hadn’t been enough.

      ‘It’s good,’ she said, scooping her spoon into her bowl once again? ‘Maybe you should indulge in something indecent yourself.’

      ‘I’ve already ordered my breakfast,’ he growled, looking away, her words grating on some dark, unfamiliar part of him, but more disturbingly, arousing him in a way he’d thought impossible. But also proving a point that was more than satisfying. He’d caught her out. She’d been wrong when she’d said she’d changed. She’d claimed she’d grown up and yet here she was, still playing silly sexual games. So much for growing up.

      He pushed his chair back and strode to the edge of the terrace, wanting an end to it, needing space, both mentally and physically. On the level below an infinity pool stretched to the cliff, merging with the brilliant blue sea beyond, a sea interrupted by nothing more than the occasional vessel and the sharp black rock that lay kilo-metres offshore. Even from this distance it looked like a mountain, seabirds forming an ever-changing cloud at its peak. And something Raphael had mentioned cut through the resistance he felt at extending his dealings with this woman.

      ‘Tell me, is that where Sienna’s helicopter crashed?’

      Marietta followed his gaze and shivered in spite of the sun, remembering the day she’d arrived here on Montvelatte and the anticipation she’d felt to be meeting Rafe’s fiancée, only for her almost to be lost before they had even met. ‘Iseo’s Pyramid? That’s right.’

      ‘What happened? Raphael said she was lucky to be alive. I didn’t press him for details.’

      He didn’t turn around, just continued to gaze out over the sea, and for that she was glad. The memories of that day, the fear of not knowing whether Sienna was alive or dead, and the look of anguish she’d seen in her brother’s eyes when he’d thought he’d lost the woman he loved were still fresh and raw and more than enough to contend with without Yannis’s piercing СКАЧАТЬ