The Royal House Of Karedes Collection Books 1-12. Кейт Хьюит

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СКАЧАТЬ carried her to the bed and lay down with her in his arms. Kissed her tenderly. Stroked her back. And, inevitably, as he held her, as his body heated hers, as she burrowed against him, tenderness gave way to desire.

      “Are you sure you’re okay?” he whispered as he touched her. “Shall I stop?”

      “Don’t stop,” she whispered back, “don’t ever stop.”

      And he didn’t.

      She was gone again, the next time he awoke.

      A knot of apprehension formed in his belly but the bathroom door stood open and the room was empty.

      He showered quickly, pulled on jeans, a white T-shirt and mocs, and went downstairs. He could hear the radio playing softly in the kitchen, turned to Athenia’s favorite music station. She smiled at him.

      “Kalimera, sir.”

      “Have you seen Miss Santos?”

      “Oh, yes, perhaps an hour ago. She had coffee and—”

      “She was all right?”

      His housekeeper raised her eyebrows. “Fine, sir. She went to the guesthouse. To her workshop, I mean.”

      The workshop. Alex ran a hand through his hair. “Of course,” he said sheepishly.

      He found her there, perched on a high stool at a workbench. She was wearing jeans and a blue chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She’d pulled her hair back in a ponytail; her feet were bare, one on the rung of the stool, one on the floor. She was bent over a sketchpad, intensity in every line of her body, and humming something he couldn’t identify other than to be sure the tune was almost painfully off-key.

      He smiled, came up behind her quietly and slipped his arms around her.

      “Kalimera, kardoula mou,” he said softly, and kissed the nape of her neck.

      She sank back against him, her head against his shoulder, her hands covering his.

      “Kalimera, Alexandros,” she said, and turned her face to his for a kiss.

      “Mmm,” he said. She tasted wonderful, of coffee and of herself. “I missed you.”

      She laughed. “I’m glad to hear it.”

      Alex grinned and turned her in his arms. “Then, why were you in such a hurry to leave my bed?”

      “Oh, I wasn’t in a hurry at all!” She blushed. “I mean—”

      “Such a nice compliment, glyka mou. No need to explain it away.”

      Maria linked her hands behind his neck. “I woke up and thought of a small change I want to make in your mother’s necklace. Nothing that will alter the design,” she said hastily, “just a modification in the way I planned to position the central stone. I promise, she’ll still like it.”

      “She’ll love it, Maria. She thinks the design, your work, all the pictures you sent, are brilliant.”

      Her face glowed with pleasure. “I’m so glad, Alexandros! This commission means the world to me.”

      His gaze fell to her lips. “What else means the world to you?” he said huskily.

      His hands slid under her shirt, cupped her breasts. Her breath caught; he watched her eyes turn from hazel to coffee-brown to ink-black.

      “This,” she said, covering his hands with hers, “oh, this, this, this …”

      He carried her to the bed. And as he came down beside her and kissed her, as they undressed each other, as she kissed his mouth, his throat, his chest, his belly and, at last, touched the tip of her tongue to the silk-over-steel power of his erection, she knew that what she’d just told him was only partly true.

      This—touching him, kissing him, sharing his passion—did mean the world, but only because—because…

      Because she loved him.

      They had brunch, what Athenia referred to as a kolatsio, a snack, on a terrace overlooking the water. Thick, sweet Greek coffee. Olives. Feta cheese. Slices of warm, delicious bread and a tray of sweet cheese pastries that Alex said were called kalitsounia kritis.

      They should have been called heavenly. The pastries were delicious and decadent and surely fattening but Maria didn’t care. She would not worry about anything this morning, not when life was so perfect. Even the day was perfect. Bright. Sunny. Warm. Unusual for the time of year, Alexandros said, and nothing like the weather they’d left behind in New York.

      The truth was, nothing was like what she’d left in New York. Not this beautiful place. And not this wonderful, gorgeous, sexy, strong, funny, caring, intelligent man.

      Now, Maria, Sister Sarah would have cautioned, that’s far too many adjectives.

      Yes, Maria thought, but Sister had never met Alex.

      He was seated across from her, talking about his house. He loved it; she could see that in his animated face. He was proud of it; she could hear that in his voice. How did you come to find such a perfect house? she’d asked, and he’d said, with a boyish grin, that he hadn’t found it, he’d built it.

      And he had.

      He’d worked along with the architect. With the builder. With the carpenters. He’d wanted a house that blended into its surroundings, that was spare and strong and unique.

      “Like these cliffs,” he said.

      Like you, she thought.

      He told her that he’d lived in the palace until he’d gone away to boarding school and then university, and, though he loved its history and elegance, it had never felt like home. So, once he had his MBA, he’d bought a condo in Ellos and another in New York. Then, one weekend at the family compound overlooking the turbulent waters that separated Aristo and Calista, the Strait of Poseidon that Kitty had mentioned at dinner, it had suddenly hit him that what he wanted was a place of his own, overlooking the sea.

      “I’d always loved driving along these cliffs so it seemed natural to call a friend, a realtor, inquire about property, then bring another friend, an architect, to see what he might suggest, and—” Alex laughed. “Look at you, kardoula mou. Your beautiful eyes are glazing over, thanks to my endless talk about myself.” He reached for her hands, lifted them to his lips and kissed them. “What I really want to talk about is you.”

      She smiled. “My life isn’t anywhere near as interesting. And my eyes aren’t glazing over. I love learning things about you, Alexandros.”

      She did. Oh, she did! She’d gone from hating him to loving him in what seemed a heartbeat but the truth was, she’d fallen in love with him that first terrible night.

      “Still, I won’t say another word until you tell me about Maria Santos.”

      “It’s a dull—Hey,” she said, laughing as Alex, in СКАЧАТЬ