Her Greek Groom. Sara Craven

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СКАЧАТЬ brows lifted. ‘Why not?’

      She said wildly, ‘Because it’s the middle of the morning.’

      He began to laugh. ‘How conventional you are, agapi mou,’ he mocked. ‘When we were on Myros there was not one minute of the day or night that we did not want each other.’

      She bit her lip. ‘That was different.’

      ‘Did you expect me to seduce you over dinner with flowers and moonlight?’ His tone was cynical. ‘It is too late for that. Once, perhaps, I would have made it beautiful for you. Now—’ he shrugged ‘—regard it as the signature on a contract.’

      ‘Draco.’ Her voice broke. ‘Please—don’t do this to me—to us.’

      ‘Us?’ he echoed contemptuously. ‘There is no “us”. I have bought you, Cressida mou. That is all. And this time you will not have the opportunity to run away.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I have a couple of calls to make. I will join you in a few minutes.’

      She said bitterly, ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’

      ‘I intend to,’ he said. ‘Whether or not you share my pleasure is your own concern. But I think you will.’

      He pulled her towards him, his arm a steel band forcing her compliance. His dark face swam momentarily in front of her startled eyes. Then he bent his head and kissed her breast.

      The sudden heat of his mouth scorched through her thin blouse and lacy bra as if she was already naked. His lips found her nipple, tugging at it, creating a sharp, exquisite pain that triggered a scalding flood of need in return.

      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.’ СКАЧАТЬ