Possession. Maisey Yates

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      ‘If I sign right now, when will I see Callie?’ Ella pressed.

      ‘Tomorrow.’

      Ella breathed in slow and deep and got up to put the document down on the table. ‘I’ll sign,’ she said.

      He summoned two lawyers and their signatures were duly witnessed. She couldn’t look either man in the eye, for Aristandros had made her feel like a whore who was selling not only her body to him but also her self-will. She found it hard to credit that the same male had once treated her with pronounced respect and courtesy. She was convinced that rejection had made him hate her.

      ‘What now?’ she breathed when they were alone again.

      ‘This …’ His hands enclosed her firmly to pull her to him. Long fingers curved to her cheekbone, tipping up her mouth, and suddenly he was kissing her and instant explosions of reaction were fizzing through her bloodstream. His masculine urgency was incredibly exciting. A savage rush of sexual hunger engulfed her. With a helpless shiver she pressed herself to the hard muscular wall of his chest, impelled by the straining sensitivity of her breasts and the liquid heat between her thighs to seek closer contact. She wanted, needed, craved more than that connection. He closed a hand to her hips, tilting her against him, and a low sound of response broke low in her throat as she felt the force of his erection even through their clothing, and her own body leapt with instant answering need.

      Aristandros lifted his handsome dark head and dealt her a smile that was pure-bred predator. ‘Frozen on the outside, meltingly hot within, koukla mou. How many other guys have there been?’

      Ella hated him with so much passion at that instant for daring to voice that insolent question that she could barely vocalize, and her voice emerged with a husky edge. ‘A few,’ she lied without hesitation, determined to hide the fact that, to date, only he could extract that mad inferno of response from her. ‘I’m a passionate woman.’

      A tiny muscle pulled tight at the corner of his expressive mouth. His eyes were as ice-cold as a mountain stream. ‘Evidently. But from here on in, all that passion is mine. Is that understood?’

      Not averse to taking on the guise of a femme fatale, Ella looked up at him from beneath the long, silky lashes that gave her blue eyes such definition against her fair skin and pale hair. ‘Of course.’

      There was a moment’s silence while Ella gathered her wits and her courage. ‘Will you tell me what Callie’s like?’ she asked tautly.

      Aristandros stilled in apparent surprise at the request. ‘She’s a baby. What can you say about a baby? She’s pretty—’ He hesitated, as if recognising that more than that superficial comment was required. ‘She’s, er, quiet, good; you would hardly know she was there.’

      Ella lowered her lashes to conceal her dismay and concern at that description. A toddler of eighteen months should be lively, inquisitive and chattering, almost anything other than quiet and unobtrusive. Evidently her niece was still suffering the effects of losing her parents. ‘Do you have a close relationship with her?’ she queried, reluctant to say anything that he might translate as criticism of his guardianship of the little girl.

      ‘Of course I do.’ Aristandros frowned. ‘Now, if that is all, the limo’s waiting for you. You have appointments to keep.’

      ‘Where?’

      ‘I’m taking you to a gallery opening tonight. You’ll need clothes.’

      ‘I have clothes.’

      ‘Not to suit my social life you don’t,’ he parried, drily enough to rouse colour to her cheeks. ‘I’ll see you later.’

      Clutching her copy of the legal agreement, Ella got back into the car. She was deeply shaken by the encounter, which had imposed a challenging dose of hard reality on her. The chauffeur delivered her to a designer salon. Her arrival had clearly been pre-arranged. She was ushered from the door straight into a changing room, where detailed measurements of her figure were noted down. Within minutes a selection of garments was being brought for her to try on.

      ‘And for the event this evening,’ the senior sales-assistant murmured, fanning an elegant black cocktail-frock out in front of Ella like a bait to hook a fish, ‘Mr Xenakis particularly liked this one.’

      Ella breathed in deep to hold in an instant desire to state that the dress wasn’t her style at all. In fact, she was stunned by the awareness that Aristandros had taken so personal an interest in what she was to wear. He had actually torn himself from the world of business to consider her appearance? Was that the true definition of a womanizer—a guy so tuned in to the female body that even choosing clothing could become a prelude to sex? She focused her anxious thoughts on Callie and achieved a state of grace equal to the task of donning the dress without comment. She was equally tolerant of every other piece of apparel presented to her, even the absurd collection of silky, frivolous lingerie. The new wardrobe was only a prop to enable her to play a part, she told herself soothingly. Unfortunately, the prospect of slipping into flimsy provocative underwear for Aristandros’s benefit put Ella into a mood close to panic. Suddenly she was wishing she hadn’t claimed a level of experience she didn’t have.

      The chauffeur took her to a beauty salon next. Ella had no objection to a little fine grooming. Indeed, it was a treat to have someone else do her hair and her nails, and the process of being made up by a professional beautician intrigued her. Colours and techniques were employed that she would never have dreamt of trying. Not for nothing had Aristandros called her ‘koukla mou’—my doll—she reasoned wryly. She was no longer required to be herself. Instead she was to be what Aristandros wanted her to be: a painted, pampered ultrafeminine remake of her former self programmed to behave like the mistress equivalent of a Stepford wife.

      In an underground car-park, she got out of the limousine and was ushered into a lift. Aristandros lived in a tri-level penthouse apartment that overlooked Hyde Park. Luxurious acres of space seemed to run off in every direction from the imposing entrance-hall. She and her shopping were taken straight to the master bedroom. A swimming pool gleamed beyond the patio doors, alongside a sun terrace and the lush greenery of a rooftop garden. A maid, who addressed her in Greek, proudly demonstrated the lavish appointments of the dressing room where her clothes were to be stored, before showing her the opulent marble bathroom.

      Ella discovered that she couldn’t take her attention off the massive bed that occupied centre-stage in the bedroom. The divan was so big Aristandros would have to chase her round it to capture her, she thought crazily, her heart starting to beat very, very fast. Sex with Aristandros—something she had dreamt about seven years earlier and now cringed at the threat of, she acknowledged ruefully. Still, if practice made perfect, he ought to be better in bed than most.

      The maid hung the black dress in readiness, while Ella selected a turquoise voile-and-lace bra and matching panties and then went for a shower. When she had put on these items, she posed in front of the bathroom mirror, noticing how the clinging fabric of the underwear clung to the fullness of her breasts and the swell of her hips, not to mention even more personal parts. Just then, the door opened without warning. A gasp was snatched from her parted lips, and she snatched up a towel to conceal her only partially clothed body. Her startled blue gaze was very wide.

      Aristandros was in the doorway, seeming taller and more powerfully built than ever. Having already discarded his jacket, his tie and his shoes, he was an aggressively masculine sight with his shirt hanging loose to frame a muscular brown slice of hair-roughened chest. ‘You should have locked the door if you didn’t want company,’ СКАЧАТЬ