“Perfect,” he said with a shake of his head. “I would take you right now if I had protection.”
She felt disappointment flare in her chest.
“Are you on birth control?” He asked, kissing her neck and then taking an earlobe into his mouth and wobbling it between his teeth.
“No,” she said softly, the single word loaded with regret.
A frown tugged at his lips. “That surprises me.”
Her pulse began to fire for a wholly different reason. Would someone like she had pretended to be the night before have been on the pill? Of course. She bit down on her lip and pushed away from him a little. “It doesn’t agree with me.” She kicked away, swimming to the other side of the pool.
Her jeans were heavy though and he passed her easily, reaching the polished marble edging before her. He didn’t attempt to touch her though. He pressed his elbows onto the surface and laced his fingers together. His eyes were intense and she felt again how many similarities he had to Filip.
“What is your business in Athens?” It was a casual question but guilt made Elle flush.
Elle tread water beside him, bracing herself on the edge of the pool as he was. She stared forward, at the screen formed by the hedge, and beyond it the beautiful dawn sky. “Family stuff,” she said with total honesty, shrugging her shoulders. A breeze caressed her cheek. “And you? This is home?”
He nodded, tilting his head to stare at her profile. “Most of the time.” He reached across and ran a finger over her cheek, chasing the breeze. “I have places in London, New York, Paris.” With each city he named he nodded a little, a gesture Elle found endearing. “I travel a lot for business so I need to be comfortable.”
Her look was droll. “Yes, I can see you like creature comforts.” She spun, propping her elbows on the edge of the pool and staring inwards at the mansion. And it was a mansion, she realised properly now, in the breaking light of day. The sheer quantity of glass blew her mind; enormous doors that overlooked Athens in one direction and the pool area in another. Three stories high, it was a bonafide compound.
“As do you, I suspect.”
Oh, if only he knew! A smile tickled her lips as she thought of the flat she shared with Hannah, and Filip when he was home from boarding school. Most of the furnishings had been scrounged from yard sales and second-hand stores, though Elle’s eye for style had resulted in a fashionably eclectic mix of bohemian pieces.
“Who doesn’t,” she answered lamely, for he seemed to be waiting for a response. Would he help her? It was a burning question now. “You live here alone?”
He pulled a quizzical face. “Of course. What, do you think I have a wife hiding somewhere in the attic, Rochester style?”
She flushed. “I didn’t mean that. I was referring to family.”
“Koukla mou, I am twenty nine years old. Do you imagine I live with my parents still?”
It was such a ludicrous suggestion that she laughed. “I guess not.” She kicked into the middle of the pool, graceful despite the denim, and did a pirouette in the water. “Do you have brothers? Sisters?”
“No. There is only me.” His expression was shuttered in a way that she couldn’t analyse. If she knew him better she might have been able to understand what had caused him to close off from the conversation. Was it secret-keeping? Did he know of Filip after all, as Hannah had suggested? Did he know, but refuse to care? Or was it simply that he’d only buried his father recently, and that he was – naturally – mourning him?
“I have a brother,” she said, her own face showing clearly the affection she felt for Filip as she spoke. “I don’t see him often though. He’s at boarding school. I miss him.”
“I see.” So her brother was still at school? An unpalatable idea occurred to him, one he instantly needed to dispel. “How old are you?”
She laughed again, and he realised he liked the sound of it. “Older than I look,” she promised, swimming back towards him and wrapping her legs around his waist. She didn’t stop to reflect on how perfectly natural the intimacy felt. “Old enough that you should have no compunction in taking me inside and ravaging me again and again.”
The invitation seemed to tumble from her without permission, and without her knowledge. It was as though he had unlocked a box within her, one she hadn’t even known she possessed, and it was filled with words, ideas and desires that were not of her making, yet were of her completely.
“Old enough to vote?” He asked, wading through the water and moving up the stairs. He held her easily around his waist, not caring that they were leaving a trail of pool water on the tiled courtyard.
“Yep.” She ran her hands through the hair at his nape, her eyes filled with mirth as he stared at her.
“You’re being deliberately evasive.”
“Yep.” She laughed once more. “We’ve brought half the pool with us.”
He dropped her to her feet and lifted her shirt in one motion, discarding it with a loud splash at their feet. Her jeans were much harder to remove; they were skin-tight and the water meant he had to kneel down to peel them from her body. But he was nothing if not determined and within a moment he had stripped her naked.
He stood and cupped her face. “Tell me your age.”
She grinned and wrapped her fingers around the elastic of his boxer shorts. She began to ease them down, and though they moved easily, she did as he had and knelt to the ground. At eye-level with his powerful arousal, she briefly faltered, before pressing a chaste kiss on the flat skin just beneath his belly button. He jerked in response and she felt a thrill of feminine power. With fingers that were shaking slightly she gripped his hips and stood. “Old enough that you don’t need to worry.”
She couldn’t have said why she was being so cryptic, she knew only that she liked teasing him. She enjoyed withholding information from him, for she sensed he was a man who needed to know everything about everyone. Information was, after all power, and Christos Rakanti was nothing if not powerful.
“Are you going to take me to bed?” She asked with hooded eyes, her fingers dropping to his length.
He groaned. “No.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her gently, so that she fell back onto the sofa. She made a sound of surprise as he came to lie on top of her. His kiss was demanding and emotional. Strange since there was so little emotion in what they were doing.
This was chemistry, pure and simple.
“Wait here.” He pressed himself against her and then stood. He reappeared quickly, in the act of protecting them both from any unwanted consequences of this union. And though she’d borrowed several pages from her mother’s playbook, getting pregnant to a man she hardly knew was definitely not one of them. Elle was grateful that he took the matter so seriously, but even as he thrust into her she wondered if he was so pedantic about it because he knew of Filip. Had he grown up with the spectre of unwanted children and determined never to find himself in such a situation?
She couldn’t give the notion any proper attention though, as her mind began to fog with the now-familiar whirls of desire and lust that he alone could invoke. She dug her nails into his back as an orgasm came at her thick and fast. She lifted her pelvis and he thrust deeper, taking control of her body as though he was designed to do so.
His hands ran over her skin and he committed every single inch of her to memory. She would be the stuff of his fantasies. When she was long gone, she would fill his dreams. She was perfection. He took one of her dusky pink nipples into his mouth, revelling in her breasts’ sweet fullness. He laced his fingers through hers, lifting her arms above her head as together they rode the wave of release, their breathing in unison, their voices raised.
It was perfect.
He fell onto her afterwards and through his chest he could feel her heart racing like a panicked sparrow. He liked that he could do that to her. She had the experience and confidence of a woman who did this often, but he didn’t care. Her heart was racing for him and he knew that she
was as driven wild by their coming together as he was.
He pulled out of her with a sense of regret, already anticipating their next union. He stared down at her, adding her sweet face to his collection of memories. “I’m starving.”
She grinned. “Same.”
His smile was, without a doubt, the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. His face was … strong. The word came to her out of nowhere, and it was perfectly apt. From his square jaw to defined eyes and the confident set of his mouth, he was a man so obviously in control that it took her breath away.
He stood and held a hand out for her. She put hers in it and followed him into the kitchen. He slipped into a door to his left and returned with a couple of white robes.
“You’ve thought of everything,” she said with a shake of her head, pressing her arms into the sleeves he held aloft.
He bit back the statement that had tickled his tongue: It’s not my first time. He sensed the words would hurt her, and worse, they’d ruin the atmosphere that was building around them. These were absurd considerations for a man such as Christos Rakanti, yet still he stifled the response.
Elle reached down to cinch her waist and then, halfway through spinning to face Christos, she froze. Her eyes hit the piano like a tennis player might dash a ball. She stared at it for several beats and then began to move. It must have been there earlier, when she’d crept down to make her tea, but she’d been so focussed on staying silent that she hadn’t seen it.
Her mouth was dry, her heart racing, her blood pounding through her body as she took in the details of the piece. Christos, curious, followed, unable to take his eyes of her wrapt face.
“You’re looking at my piano like you were staring at me last night …”
Her eyes shifted to him self-consciously. “And how exactly is that?”
“Like you would do anything in the world to touch it.” He put a hand casually on the top, his expression a mask of undisguised curiosity. “Do you play?”
“A little,” she lied, her fingers itching with the spirit she could rarely contain. And because it would be a form of torture not to acknowledge her feelings, she lifted her eyes to his face. “It’s … a Schott-Casson Steinway.”
Both of his brows moved towards the heavens. “Yes. Only three of them were ever made. Don’t tell me you have a matching one?”
She shook her head. “No.” It was a whisper, so soft he barely caught it.
Carried by the winds of fascination and with an air of apology, she pressed her own fingers lightly to the keys. “Look at the arched brass lyre, and the mother of pearl detail, the hand-carved legs … I’ve read about them, of course, but I never thought I’d see one.” She ran her hand over the detailed lid and appreciated the shiver that ran down her back.
“Play it,” he urged, fascinated by the change in her demeanour. He felt, inexplicably, as though he was watching something brilliant and unique. He couldn’t have put into words why her behaviour moved him so, but he had the strongest sense that he was about to see something special.
As Elle took her seat at the keys, he sucked in a breath and held it. She played Rachmaninov, though he didn’t know it then. Her fingers glanced over the keys like leaves in the breeze. She closed her eyes as she played, and her face seemed to dance with the emotions of the song alone. He stood perfectly still, like a rock, watching her intuit the piece and weave it through the atmosphere. She did it effortlessly, as he might breathe or run or talk. She turned tiny muscular movements into an expression of song that touched him at the centre of his being.
She played as though there was no one in the room and yet she should have been in front of an audience.
He made not a single sound so as not to disturb her performance. As the song shifted down, slowing towards its conclusion, he leaned forward, his eyes glued to her face. She pressed the keys and then sucked in a deep breath and fixed her eyes on him. “This piano is … a beautiful instrument.”
“Apparently.”
She stood with obvious remorse, running her fingers over the lid one last time. “Why do you have it if you don’t play?” She asked, tightening the belt of her robe for something to do.
“I collect beautiful things,” he said, his eyes clinging to her face. “And it’s a good investment.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You’re not serious?”
He lifted a brow, silently urging her to continue.
“Oh. It’s just such a shame. A piano like this … it deserves to be played. To be adored.”
He laughed cynically. “It’s not a child.”
“It’s better.” She flashed him a teasing smile. “It can’t answer back.”
“True.” He put a hand casually in the small of her back. “I’m afraid my culinary skills are practically non-existent. I can offer you toast or toast. And coffee.”
“Toast would be great,” she said with a shrug of non-concern. “I’m not a huge breakfast girl.”
“Coffee?”
She shook her head. “I’m not a coffee girl either.”
He stared at her as though she’d started to count backwards in Chinese. “You don’t drink coffee?”
Her eyes were huge in her face. “Nope.”
“Ever?”
“Nope.”
“No coffee?”
Her laugh tinkled around the kitchen. “Why is that so hard to believe?”
He lifted a small metallic pot onto the bench. “Because coffee is what fuels me. Or one of the things, at least,” he grinned. “I don’t know how I’d live without it.”
“Then you have coffee, and I’ll make another tea.”
“Sit. I’ll make the tea.”
“Yessir.” She pulled a mock salute. “You’re very bossy.”
“Yes.”
She shook her head. “And you don’t care.”
“Why would I?” He shrugged. “I am as I am.”
She swallowed. “Yeah.” And what was he? Was he the kind of man who would be compassionate to her brother’s circumstance? Would he understand why she’d stooped so low to help Filip? Or would he judge her for the morally-questionable decisions she’d made?
“Are you a professional musician?” He asked, placing the silver pot onto the stove and then filling a mug with boiling water.
“No. Not really.” She bit down on her lip, willing her heart not to ache so badly. “I just like to play.”
“You’re exceptionally gifted.”
Her head jerked towards his and then she smiled, a forced gesture to cover her first reaction. The letter had said that. ‘Exceptionally gifted, a musician of rare promise.’
“It’s just a bit of fun,” she lied with an awkward shrug.
“If you say so.” He pushed the tea towards her and she murmured her thanks.
“So if you are not a professional musician, and you are old enough to vote, I presume you are old enough to work. What do you do?”
“How do you know I do anything?” She prompted curiously, giving nothing away.
He expelled a low, soft sigh and moved around to her side of the kitchen island. He spun her on the stool, so that he stood between her legs. “I can torture the information out of you, agape mou, if you insist on being secretive.”
“How?” She asked, her breath snagging in her throat.
His laugh was like warm caramel on her skin. “How do you think.” He untied her robe, exposing her nakedness to him. “I know what you like,” he flicked her breast with his finger, and she shuddered. “I know what drives you crazy.” He ran his finger down her flat stomach and teased the curls at the apex of her thigh. She moved her legs wider, desperate for him to do something to calm the raging fire.
He understood and pressed his finger into her core, just far enough to make her moan softly. “You are so wet, Elle.” He moved his finger in slow, torturous circles and she moaned louder, pushing her hips forward to take more of him. Only he shifted backwards, intent on teasing rather than relieving.
“Plea
se,” she husked, reaching for his wrist to guide him deeper.
He made a tsk-ing noise and shook his head.
“How old are you?”
It was a battle of their wills, and one she no longer cared to win. She cared for nothing but relief. “Twenty one.”
He moved deeper, momentarily giving her a hint of what she wanted. “You are ready for me again,” he said with a shake of his head. “I had no idea you would be so willing when we met last night.” He strummed her body, and she began to make little sobbing sounds of desperation.
“I need you,” she said honestly, tilting her head back and groaning.
“I can feel that you do.” He kissed her neck, and she moaned, wrapping her legs around his waist and leaning further back. There were several stools in a row but they were hardly supportive. She didn’t care. She just knew that he would support her and keep her safe. That he was in charge.
“Not here.” He lifted her and carried her upstairs, as he had the night before. He took her to the bedroom they’d shared and eased her to the floor and gave her a look of impatience. “Stay.”
As though she had any thoughts of moving. She heard the water running a moment later and anticipation slicked through her. With one finger crooked, he urged her to join him. She walked across the carpeted floor and into the ensuite. The shower was enormous. It stretched the length of the bathroom, with no barrier between it and the rest of the space. There were two enormous shower heads and a heavily tinted window showed the view of the city beyond.
“Is it private?” She asked and he nodded.
“Of course.”
“Not necessarily ‘of course’,” she murmured, though rational thought was difficult. “You could be some kind of pervy show off.”
He shook his head. “No.”
He gripped her hips and lifted her once more, and she noticed he’d remembered protection, even then. Thank goodness. If it had been up to her she would have been too caught up to think of such practicalities. He pressed her against the glass; it was cold and she made a noise of complaint. It was quickly silenced as he eased her onto his length. Standing, with the water pounding over them, he was so deep inside of her that she felt like she was experiencing something completely new. It was all different. Her hips rotated and her arms wrapped around him. He kissed her and their tongues fought with the shower water. She was suffocating and drowning; desire was coating her insides with a whole new sense of self.