She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I did want to tell you. But then I saw you with that woman and I was—hurt. Jealous.’ She shook her head, not quite meeting his eyes. ‘I know I had no right to feel that way...’
He lifted his hands, cupping her face. ‘Whatever else we were, I was your first lover. It’s natural that you felt something when you saw me with another woman so soon after that night.’
Her lower lip trembled, and he groaned, because he didn’t want her to cry. He needed her not to.
‘I thought I’d be ruining your life because I’d fallen pregnant. Then I thought you might insist on taking the baby away from me. I was hormonal and alone and it was hard to know what to do. But, the more time that passed, the more I felt I’d done the right thing. Until he was born...and he just looked so much like you, Dimitrios. His eyes were exactly like yours.’ Her voice was hoarse, thickened by emotion.
‘I thought about telling you then. I even picked up my phone to call you, but the things you’d said to me that night kept going around and around my head.’
He stiffened, anger at the past making his body grow tense.
‘I don’t mean that I wanted to keep it a secret to punish you. But you were so cold that night. I felt like you...hated me. What if you hated our baby, too? What if you hated me even more for having him? I honestly felt like my only option was to keep him secret and raise him on my own.’ A tear slid down her cheek, and finally her wet eyes lifted to his face. ‘I’m so sorry for what I did to you—to you both.’
‘Don’t.’ His voice rumbled from the depths of his soul. ‘Don’t apologise to me. I blamed you when I first found out, but how can I blame you now?’
He moved closer, needing to comfort her the only way he knew how. He brushed his lips over hers and felt her shuddering breath as she exhaled. ‘I’m the one who’s been in the wrong. I was wrong to go to you that night, wrong to push you away so hard afterwards, saying whatever I needed to make you realise how wrong I was for you. I was wrong not to contact you afterwards. You weren’t a child, but you were so much younger than me, and considerably less worldly.’ His hands splayed over her cheeks, drawing her closer, his lips on hers now. ‘I’m sorry.’
She sobbed. He caught her anguish with his mouth, then he kissed her, slowly at first, gently, his mouth apologising to her. But then her small groan ignited something deep in his soul so, without his intention, his kiss deepened, conveying urgency and need, his hands moving to her hips, lifting her to sit on the edge of the bench, his hands curving over her bottom, holding her pressed to arousal, his kiss a demand and a promise. The spark that had ignited between them earlier that morning had caused a full-blown explosion now.
He continued to kiss her as his hands began to roam her body, and hers did likewise, pushing at his shirt, her fingers working the buttons slowly but determinedly, undoing the top two before she made a sound of frustration and simply lifted it from the waistband of his trousers. Her fingertips explored the muscular ridges of his abdomen, following the lines there until she reached his hair-roughened nipples and touched them so tentatively, he wanted to let out a guttural oath.
It was like the breaking of a dam, the beating of a drum that couldn’t be contained. He lifted her from the bench, wrapping her legs around his waist, carrying her from the kitchen without breaking their kiss, and her hands continued to roam his body hungrily, each touch like a promise of what was to come. He needed her in a way that made no sense, yet it also made all the sense in the world.
She pushed at his shirt as they entered his study. He was rarely in Sydney so the space, while beautiful, was devoid of the clutter in his Singapore office. He carried her to the large white sofa, laying her down and following after her, his body weight on hers, his kiss dominating her as his hands found the hem of her dress and pushed it upwards, just as he’d wanted to do when she’d shown it to him on the rack. He’d imagined her wearing it, imagined himself removing it. A heady rush of achievement flooded his body.
This would be the silver lining to their marriage—the one thing they could build a relationship around. He pushed at the dress, lifting away to remove it from her completely, and then he stopped. He didn’t kiss her again, even though he wanted to, because there was something he wanted to do so much more desperately.
He wanted to look at her. To see her. See the body he hadn’t been in the right frame of mind to fully appreciate the night they’d made love, yet still remembered well enough to see the changes made by a child, a few years. Despite her slim frame, her breasts had grown rounder, her hips too. He cupped her breasts possessively, as though he had every right, as though she were his in every way, his mouth finding hers once more, his fingers teasing her nipples, making her arch her back and moan in a way he understood on a primal level.
‘Yes,’ he promised, though she hadn’t said anything. She didn’t need to. ‘Soon.’
Her fingertips stilled for a moment, then gained momentum, moving up his back, dragging down, her nails pushing into the waistband of his trousers and curving into the top of his bottom, dragging him closer to her, lifting her hips at the same time, as though trying to unite them.
‘Too many clothes,’ she said breathlessly. It was a sentiment with which he one hundred per cent concurred.
‘Way too many.’
He pushed to standing, his eyes burning into hers as he stripped himself of fabric completely before dispensing with her underwear. Once again, he could only look—the sight of her was so intoxicating, like a drug he’d never known he was craving. The curls of hair at the top of her thighs, the fullness of her breasts, their creamy skin and the pinkness of her nipples. She had matured into a woman’s body, and he wanted, more than anything, to make her his.
A voice in the back of his mind was shouting at him, reminding him he’d already acted on his own selfish impulses where Annabelle was concerned, taking her because it had suited him, regardless of what had been right for her. But this was different, wasn’t it? They were getting married. They already had a child together.
His arousal was straining so hard, it was painful; he could feel heat building up inside him, begging to be released.
Any woman would have done.
That wasn’t true. He’d needed Annabelle that night, just as he needed her now. He didn’t know why she had this power over him, but she did. That didn’t absolve him of his obligations, though, his duty to do the right thing by her. If anything, it made it so much more imperative that he did so.
She wasn’t just the mother of his child, she was still Lewis’s sister, and he owed them all more than just the animalistic indulgence of his urges.
‘Please,’ she whimpered, her fingertips moving to her breasts, cupping them so he swore under his breath, the temptation almost too much to bear.
‘God, Annabelle, I want this.’
‘Me too.’ She pushed up to sitting, reaching for his hand and yanking him back to the sofa. He went even when he knew he should have fought her. He sat and she lifted herself up to straddle him, her cheeks pink, her eyes fevered.
‘But we can’t do this,’ he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief at what he was saying. His arousal begged him to reconsider.
‘What?’ she murmured, as though she’d misheard him. Her hand dropped between them, cupping his masculine strength, the pad of her thumb brushing over his tip. He dropped his head back, his eyes squeezed shut as a bead of moisture escaped.
‘We should wait. Until we’re married.’
‘What?’ This time it was higher-pitched, rife with disbelief. ‘You have got to be kidding me.’
Her beautiful body jack-knifed off him, her eyes showing surprise, then hurt.
He stood, moving towards her, but she lifted a hand, stilling him. ‘Don’t. Just let me... You’re saying you don’t want to sleep with me?’
And, despite the seriousness of that mom
ent, his lips curved in a sardonic smile. ‘Does that look like what I’m saying?’ He gestured to his rampant erection, and felt a flood of warmth at the innocent blush that spread over her cheeks.
‘Annabelle, seven years ago I made a selfish decision that has completely changed your life. If we have sex right now, I have no reason to think you’re not going to regret it, and that you’re not going to think I’ve taken advantage of you.’
‘But—you’re the one who said you want this to be a real marriage.’
He rubbed his hand over his stubbly jaw. ‘I do want that. I want us to find some common ground, and right now the fact we obviously still have this chemistry is a great start. But you’re completely blindsided by all this—I’m not going to take advantage of you in what could just be a moment of indecision or uncertainty.’ He ignored her lifted hand, moving closer, so he could lace his fingers with hers.
‘I want you. I want you more than I have words to express, so believe me when I say it’s taking all my willpower to walk away from you. But it’s what I should have done seven years ago.’
Her eyes were huge, hollowed out. ‘You regret it that much?’
He shifted his head, surprised by her interpretation. But it was accurate. ‘Yes,’ he said with a nod. ‘I do. Not because that night wasn’t great. Not because I didn’t want you. But because I should have been strong enough to understand that we weren’t well-matched. You were nothing like the women I usually see. You still aren’t.’
She spun away from him, dragging her hand free. Her back was trembling.
‘I know that.’
‘No, you still don’t understand. You’re so beautiful, Annabelle, but you’re also so innocent. So inexperienced and naïve. For me, that night was just sex, and for you it was...what? Love?’
He saw her flinch. ‘Whatever I thought it was then doesn’t matter now.’
‘But it does. If we’re going to have a physical relationship, we need to define the parameters of that first. I won’t hurt you again, Annabelle. I have regretted hurting you for seven years—I can’t remember that night without a deep sense of shame. I won’t let that happen again.’
She’d turned back around and was staring at him as though he’d just said, ‘I kill kittens for fun.’
How could she not see what he was doing? That this was a sacrifice and a half? Did she have any idea how much his body was screaming for her?
‘Seven years ago, I thought you cared for me,’ she whispered, and that same sense of shame and guilt fired inside him once more. ‘I was stupid and naïve, just like you said.’
‘I did care for you, Annabelle.’
She rejected that. ‘You cared about Lewis’s sister, not about me as my own person.’
‘I cared about you enough to push you away—hard—so you wouldn’t waste any more of your time fantasising about me.’
She held up a hand again to silence him. ‘I’d built you up in my mind to be something you weren’t. I had all these ideas about you, and I know it was stupid. It was a crush. I don’t feel any of those things now.’
He wondered why that bothered him so much. Ego, he thought, with a shake of his head.
‘I’ve had seven years to wake up and smell the coffee. I get it. I was just someone for you to have sex with, nothing more meaningful. You’re someone who lives your life in a certain way. I don’t have any problem with that, and you shouldn’t feel bad about it. My expectations were just way out of step with the reality of what you were offering. But they’re not now. I get what the parameters of this are. I get that sex is probably the only thing we’ll ever have in common.’
‘And that’s enough for you?’ he asked, carefully keeping his voice devoid of emotion.
She sighed. It was all he needed to hear. He moved closer, coming to stand in front of her.
‘I’m not going anywhere.’ He lifted his hand to her arm, slowly running a finger down it, his gaze following the gesture, noting the goose bumps that followed in its wake. ‘Let’s take it slow and make sure you don’t get hurt this time around. Okay?’
CHAPTER SIX
ANNIE RAN HER fingers over the rows and rows of designer outfits, shaking her head as she moved around the walk-in wardrobe. Could it still be called a wardrobe when it was the size of her old apartment? she mused, pulling a drawer open and gasping when she saw that it was filled with neatly organised handbags—also boasting designer names. She shut it again quickly.
This couldn’t all be for her, surely?
Everything she’d tried on that morning and loved was there, but there was much more as well. It was as though someone had taken her impressions and used them as the building blocks of her fantasy wardrobe. There was everything from casual—jeans and yoga pants—to sophisticated and glamorous—slinky silken dresses, and even a couple of ball gowns, as well as trouser suits and blouses. It was the kind of wardrobe a teenaged Annie would have fantasised about.
With a small smile, she pulled one of the dresses up and held it against herself. Just as in the boutique, she saw how beautiful the dress was, and how much it suited her. She imagined that when she wore it she would look, and feel, a million dollars.
Speaking of which, all the price tags had been removed, which was a saving grace, because if she could easily tally up what he’d spent she’d never let him keep them. That, though, was a technicality. She could estimate the expense and it didn’t change the fact that her heart had lifted at the sight of so many beautiful things, and all for her.
Ordinarily, she might have gone to lightly chastise him, and then to thank him, but what had happened between them earlier had caused Annie anxiety all evening. Max had arrived home not long after Dimitrios had put an end to their passion so she’d been able to busy herself with the important job of helping him assimilate this dramatic change in his circumstances. Fortunately, Max was a grounded kid and—mostly—he took it on the chin. His room was enormous, and he found the idea of a nanny interesting, but having his familiar books and train set waiting for him in his room seemed to assuage any concerns he might have had.
They had dinner together—burgers that Dimitrios ordered in, which Max ate with gusto, earning many beaming smiles of pride from Dimitrios. Annie had watched their interactions with a sense of sadness—at what the two had lost because of her—and pleasure—because it clearly wasn’t too late for them to build a meaningful relationship.
That was why they were doing this and, whatever personal sacrifice that required Dimitrios and her to make, it was completely worth it.
As for their own personal relationship, maybe he was right. Maybe they shouldn’t rush into bed together. A day ago, Annie would have laughed off the suggestion, but Dimitrios’s appeal was as magnetic as ever. She was going to have to work extremely hard to fight it.
But did she even want to?
I don’t want you to get hurt again.
Once she skipped over the mortification of how much of her heart was being worn on her sleeve, his thoughtfulness was pretty reassuring. She’d been a teenager the last time they’d had sex, and he had hurt her. By design! He’d aimed to break whatever illusions and hopes she’d built up thanks to one night of passionate sex. He’d said what he needed to—the harshest things he could think of—to push her away. It had worked. She’d been devastated, and furious, but he was doing everything he could to avoid her going through that again.
She could have told him he needn’t have worried. His diatribe that night had spawned something new in Annie; she was no longer the person she’d been then. She’d never be that woman again.
The fact he’d been her only lover didn’t change how she viewed sex now—it was purely a physical act. It didn’t mean anything. Just because they desired each other didn’t mean their feelings were—or ever had to be—involved. It was only passion. Respect and friendship had to be worked on separately.
&nbs
p; And what about love? a little voice inside her demanded. What about the fairy stories and the idea of a happily ever after?
Childish nonsense, Annie thought, pushing that little voice deep inside her as she walked back through the bedroom and into the hallway.
She was looking for Dimitrios, to thank him for the clothes. What she hadn’t expected to find was him in their son’s room. She checked her watch; it was half an hour after Max’s bed time. Dimitrios had said he’d tuck him in and, given how much he’d missed, and the fact Max had seemed fine with it, Annie hadn’t objected. She slowed down as she approached the door, the deep rumble of Dimitrios’s voice setting goose bumps along her arms.
‘This one is from when I was a boy, not much older than you.’
‘What happened?’
She wanted to peer round the door to see what Dimitrios was talking about, but she knew then that they might see her and stop talking.
‘My brother—your uncle Zach—you’ll like him.’ She could hear the smile in Dimitrios’s voice. ‘He liked to go to the Rocks, just down there.’ Annie closed her eyes, picturing Sydney’s famous Rocks area. ‘There’s an old bridge and a set of steps. We used to climb half way up them and then jump down, pretending we could fly.’
His laugh filled Annie’s tummy with butterflies.
‘Really?’
‘Mmm,’ he said. ‘But we couldn’t fly, as it turns out. I got this scar when I fell and hit my arm on the footpath. My mother wasn’t very pleased.’
There was silence and she tried to imagine what the expression on Max’s little face would be like. Eventually, frustrated, she moved just a little, shifting to peer round the door. Her heart cracked wide open. Dimitrios was propped up on the bed beside Max, his large frame just a grown-up version of Max’s. Max had his left arm out and she presumed the one scar he bore—from when he’d fallen off his scooter as a two-year-old—had been the initial subject of the conversation.
An Heir Claimed By Christmas (Mills & Boon Modern) (A Billion-Dollar Singapore Christmas, Book 1) Page 9
