Modern Romance July 2015 Books 1-4. Maisey Yates

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      He reached out his hand and laid it over her left breast. He could feel her heart pounding beneath the lace of her provocative bra as he circled a thumb over the nipple which was peaking through the scarlet and black lace. ‘You never used to wear such frivolous underwear when I was with you, koukla mou,’ he observed silkily. ‘So what happened? Did the men who followed me demand that you dress to please—or have your tastes simply changed and evolved with time?’

      Jessica opened her mouth to tell him that Patti had taken her shopping after they’d been to the hairdresser, explaining that the revealing gowns wouldn’t tolerate anything except the briefest of bras, and that her panties should preferably match to get her in the mood for the shoot. Except that it hadn’t worked out that way, had it? She had stood posing like a female ice cube in the dramatic and sexy dress and had only really come to life when Loukas had touched her.

      She bit her lip. And how he had touched her. She had forgotten how exquisite an orgasm could feel when it was administered by the only man she had ever really cared about. She had forgotten how weak and powerless it could make you feel. As if all your strength had been sapped. It could make you vulnerable if you weren’t careful, and she needed to be careful.

      She shouldn’t have allowed it to happen, but now that she had she wanted it continue. She had acted foolishly but maybe understandably—or at least, understandable to her. She was like someone who’d broken her diet by opening a packet of cookies. But why stop at one, when four would be much more satisfactory and make the sin worthwhile? She didn’t want her enduring memory of sex with Loukas to be a one-sided, rather emotionless pleasuring. She wanted to make love to him properly. Hadn’t she wanted that for years? She wanted to feel him inside her. Deep inside her. Filling her and heating her as nothing else could.

      She reached up her hand and began to unbutton his shirt, determined to approach this as if they were equals. Because she wasn’t some little virgin who’d just been seduced, and though she might lack his undoubted sexual experience, there was no reason for him to know that.

      ‘Do you really want to talk about other men at a moment like this?’ she questioned coolly, slipping free another button and rubbing her hand against his hair-roughened chest.

      His mouth tightened as he leaned forward and began to tug at the belt of his trousers. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t. And soon you won’t be able to, because I’m going to make you forget every other man you’ve had sex with. You won’t be able to remember a single damned thing about them, because all you’ll be able to think about is me.’

      The arrogant boast shocked her but it thrilled her, too. Nearly as much as it thrilled her to see him peel off his clothes to reveal his body in all its honed olive splendour. It was as magnificent as it had ever been but suddenly Jessica gasped because there—zigzagging over the side of his torso like a fleshy fork of lightning—was a livid scarlet scar. Her fingers flew to her lips before reaching out to touch it, as tentatively as if it might still hurt. As if it might open up and begin to bleed all over the bed.

      ‘What happened to you?’ she whispered.

      ‘Not now, Jess,’ he growled.

      ‘But—’

      ‘I said, not now.’ His hand slid between her thighs and began to move, effectively silencing all further questioning. ‘Does that kind of detail please you?’ he rasped. ‘Does it turn you on to think that your rough, tough bodyguard has the mark of violence on his body?’

      There was something in his tone she didn’t understand—some dark note which lay just beneath the mockery—and Jessica was confused. But by then he was stroking her again and his mouth was on her breast, and she was growing so hot for him that she could barely wait for him to slide on the condom and position himself over her.

      She was trembling as he made that first thrust and the sensation surpassed every fantasy she’d ever had about him. But to her surprise, he was trembling, too, and for several moments his big body stayed completely still, as if he didn’t trust himself to move.

      She wanted to whisper things to him. Soft, stupid things. She wanted to tell him that she wished she’d married him when he’d asked her. That she’d thrown away the best chance of happiness she’d ever had. But nobody could rewrite history—and didn’t they say everything happened for a reason? Even if right now it was difficult to see what that reason could possibly be.

      And then all the nagging thoughts were driven from her mind because her orgasm was happening again. It built up into a crescendo and sent her into total meltdown—and the shuddered moan which echoed around the room told her that so, too, had his.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      THE ROOM WAS very quiet for what seemed like a long time and, when she spoke, Jessica’s words seemed to splinter the peace. She turned onto her side and stared into the face of the man beside her.

      ‘How did you get that scar?’

      Loukas stirred and stretched. Completely comfortable in his nakedness, he raised his arms and extended his powerful legs in a movement which should have distracted her, but nothing could have distracted her right then. All Jessica could see was the livid mark zigzagging over his flesh.

      ‘How?’ she whispered again, when still he didn’t answer.

      His face became shuttered as he drifted a fingertip over her nipple and watched it wrinkle and harden. ‘As a topic for pillow talk,’ he drawled, ‘it’s not exactly up there with telling me how much you enjoyed your orgasm.’

      Jessica didn’t react. He made what had happened sound so clinical. But maybe for him it was. Did legions of women purr the morning afterwards and tell the dark and charismatic Greek how much they had enjoyed their orgasm? She scooped back her hair and peered at him. ‘Was it in Paris?’ she persisted.

      ‘Was what in Paris?’ He stopped stroking.

      ‘You told me that you were...captured there.’ She hesitated. His face was still shuttered, but she persisted. ‘Was it back then?’

      Loukas lay back, pillowing his ruffled head on his folded arms as the chandelier glittered fractured light on their bare skin. He sensed she wouldn’t give up until she had an answer and something told him he was going to find it harder to silence Jess than he would the average lover. ‘No, it wasn’t then,’ he said dismissively.

      ‘So...when?’

      He turned his head to look at her and frowned. ‘Does it matter?’

      ‘Of course it matters.’ She gave a barely perceptible sigh. ‘What is it with you, Loukas? You never talk about your past, and you never did. I was with you for months and ended up knowing almost nothing about you.’

      He gave the flicker of a smile. ‘You knew plenty.’

      ‘I’m not talking about the way your body works.’

      He gave a short laugh. She had grown up in a land of milk and honey, in a world light years away from his. He thought about the big house with the tennis court and the bright green lawns which swept down to the sea. About privilege and belonging and all the things he’d never had. ‘What difference does it make to know about my past?’

      ‘It СКАЧАТЬ