by Jennie Lucas
And yet—
And yet, in this moment, she saw a strange vulnerability in his black eyes. He watched her as if he expected, at any moment, she might break the spell, and break his heart.
It was an illusion, she told herself.
But as he lowered his mouth passionately to hers, she was lost in his embrace as he wrapped his powerful arms around her. His lips plundered hers, his tongue teasing and tempting. His hands stroked down her body, cupping her full breasts, moving down her full belly to the curve of her hip.
Then his kiss gentled. He held her against his muscular chest as if she were a precious treasure. His hand cupped her cheek tenderly.
“Marry me,” he whispered. “And I’ll hold nothing back. I will give you everything.”
Everything? What did he mean? “You already gave me too much. That money in my bank account—”
“I’m not talking about money.”
Then what? Her heart lifted to her throat. He couldn’t mean—he might be able to truly love her?
Lowering his head, he kissed her. His sensual fingertips caressed her bare skin, from her shoulder, to the sensitive crook of her neck. He softly stroked the tender flesh of her earlobe, his fingers tangling in her long hair, as need sizzled through her.
He cupped her breast, rubbing his thumb against her nipple. Leaning forward, he drew her tight, aching nipple into the wet heat of his mouth. She gasped as she felt the hot swirl of his tongue suckling her, the roughness of his chin against her skin.
Pushing her legs apart, he knelt between her thighs on the bed. His broad-shouldered body was silhouetted by the city’s dappled light outside. His black eyes gleamed as he slowly pulled her white lace panties down from her hips, like a whisper over her thighs, past her knees and calves, tossing them to the floor.
Shivering with desire, she closed her eyes, her head straining back against the pillows. He spread her thighs wide with his powerful hands, moving his head between her legs. He paused, and she felt the heat of his breath against her skin.
Then, finally, he lowered his head to taste her. His hot, sensual tongue swirled against her, lightly, delicately, then lapping with more force, pushing inside her as she gasped with pleasure. The delicious tension coiled inside her, building higher and higher, until, suddenly, she cried out with joy, rocked by ecstasy.
She was still gasping beneath waves of pleasure when he lifted himself up, holding himself over her belly with his powerful arms. Positioning himself between her legs, he pushed inside her with one deep thrust.
A hoarse groan escaped him as filled her, stretching her to the hilt. For a split second, it was too much.
Then, as he held himself still, allowing her body to adjust, incredibly, new pleasure began to build inside her. He thrust inside her again, slowly. But the muscles of his arms seemed to bulge and shake, and a bead of sweat formed on his forehead, from the effort of holding himself back.
Suddenly, he pulled back. Falling onto the bed beside her, he gently rolled her on top of him.
“Take me,” he said huskily, his dark eyes like fire. “I’m yours, if you want me.”
If she wanted him?
She wanted him—yes. But he’d never asked her to take control before. Feeling uncertain, she hesitated, her body suspended over his. He was so huge. Then, slowly, she positioned herself, lowering her body, pulling him inside her, inch by delicious inch. The pleasure was almost too much to bear.
Then she looked down at his face.
His expression was worshipful, almost holy, as if he held his breath, as if he were barely holding on to the shreds of self-control. Her confidence grew.
Slowly, she began to ride him. As she picked up rhythm, he gasped aloud, a single choked groan. He suddenly gripped her thighs with his large hands.
“Daisy—slow down—I can’t—I can’t—”
But she was merciless, driving forward. Pulling him inside her deeply, she increased her speed, going faster and faster. Her full breasts swayed as she rocked back and forward, sliding hot and wet against him, until, gripping her fingernails into his shoulders, she hit another sharp peak, even higher and more devastating than the one before, and she screamed.
He exploded, pouring himself into her with a guttural roar.
She collapsed forward against him, sweaty and spent. He cradled her gently into his arms, kissing her temple.
“Daisy—agape mou—”
It had been his old nickname for her, and at that, her heart finally could take no more.
How could she have ever thought she couldn’t love him again? How could she have imagined she could ever protect her heart?
Daisy’s eyes flew open in the darkness.
She was in love with him. She always had been, even in the depths of her hatred and hurt. She’d never stopped loving him.
Turning to face him on the bed, she looked at his handsome face beneath a beam of silvery moonlight pouring like rain through the window. She whispered, “Yes.”
Leonidas grew very still. “Yes?”
Tears filled her eyes, tears Daisy didn’t understand. Were they tears of grief—or joy?
Twining her fingers in his dark hair, she tried to believe it was joy.
“I’ll marry you, Leo,” she said.
* * *
They were wed four days later.
The ceremony was small and quiet, held in the ballroom of Leonidas’s house—“Your house now,” he’d told her with a shy smile. A home wedding was perfect. The last thing Daisy wanted was more attention.
After all the pictures paparazzi took of them together at the charity ball, the story that Leonidas Niarxos had impregnated the daughter of the man he’d put into prison had exploded across New York media. For a few days, photographers stalked their quiet West Village lane. Daisy felt almost like a prisoner, afraid to go outside.
Even after they’d decided to have the wedding ceremony at home, Daisy had nervously wondered how her friends would be able to get through the media barricades.
Then a miracle happened.
The day before their wedding, a scandal broke about a movie star having a secret family in New York, a longtime mistress and two children, while he also had a famous actress wife and four children at his mansion in Beverly Hills. The national scandal trumped a local one, and all the paparazzi and news crews and social media promoters left Leonidas and Daisy’s street to stalk the movie star and his two beleaguered wives instead.
Daisy spent her last day before the ceremony finalizing the details with the wedding planner, who’d been provided by Liontari’s PR department, and then going to a lawyer’s office to sign a prenuptial agreement which, in her opinion, was far too generous. “I’m not looking to get more money,” she’d protested to her fiancé. “You’ve already given me a million dollars.”
“That money means nothing to me. I always want you and the baby to feel safe,” Leonidas said.
“But the prenuptial agreement would give me millions more. It just doesn’t seem fair.”
“To who?”
“To you.”
Smiling, he’d taken her in his arms. “I’m fine with it. Because I never intend for us to get divorced.” Lowering his head to hers, he’d whispered, “You’ve made me so happy, Daisy...”
They spent the last night before their wedding in bed. Daisy never wanted him to let her go.
And now he never would.
On the morning of their wedding, as she got ready, Daisy was overjoyed to see the spring sun shining warmly, with almost no paparazzi left on the street to bother them.
She invited only about twenty friends to the ceremony. She’d been too cowardly to call Franck in California and tell him she was getting married. She’d decided to tell him after the honeymoon. She told herself she didn’t want to have to refuse him, if he offered to walk her down the aisle
in lieu of her father. No one could replace her father.
Daisy already felt disloyal enough, marrying the man who’d killed him.
No, she told herself. Leonidas didn’t kill my father. He just accused him of forgery.
If only she could believe her father really had been guilty. Because if her father had knowingly tried to sell a forged painting, how could she blame Leonidas for refusing to be swindled?
But her father had sworn he was innocent. How could Daisy doubt his word, now that he was dead? Even now, she felt guilty, wondering if her father was spinning in his grave at her disloyalty.
She would walk down the aisle alone.
Coming down the stairs, Daisy paused in the quiet foyer before entering the ballroom. Giving a nervous smile to the hulking guards who stood by the mansion’s front door, providing security for the event, she clutched her bouquet of lilies against her simple white silk shift dress. A diamond tiara glittered in her upswept hair, along with the huge diamond on her finger.
Everything for today’s ceremony, including Leonidas’s tuxedo, had been carefully chosen from Liontari’s various luxury brands, ready to be pictured, packaged and posted by the official wedding photographer onto social media accounts, and released to newspapers around the world.
“You can’t buy this kind of press,” the PR woman had said, smacking her lips.
Daisy might have preferred something a little less fancy. But Leonidas had already given her so much. He’d barely gone to work all week. When he’d asked her if she minded if their wedding promoted Liontari brands, she’d wanted to help. She’d had only one prerequisite.
“As long as the dress is comfortable,” she’d said. And it was, the white silk loose and light against her skin.
With a deep breath, Daisy opened the ballroom doors.
The bridal march played, and all the guests turned to look at her. As she came down the makeshift aisle between the chairs, her knees shook. She wished she’d taken Mrs. Berry’s idea and let Sunny walk her down the aisle. But the dog was still so young, not fully trained, and liable to rush off and chase or sniff. She glanced at the dog, sitting in the front row, tucked carefully at the housekeeper’s feet. Daisy gave a nervous smile, and the dog panted back happily, seeming to smile.
The emotions of the other guests were more complicated.
On one side of the aisle she saw her own friends, artists and artisans, in wacky, colorful clothes. On the other side sat Wall Street tycoons, Park Avenue socialites and international jet-setters in sleek couture.
The only thing which both sides seemed to agree on was that Daisy was a greedy sellout, a gold digger cashing in, marrying the man who’d killed her father.
She stopped to catch her breath. No. She was just imagining that. No one would think that. She forced herself forward.
But as Daisy walked past the bewildered eyes of her friends, and the envious, suspicious faces of the glitterati, she felt very alone.
Then her eyes met Leonidas’s, where he stood beside the judge at the end of the aisle. And she remembered all the joys of the last week. The sensuality. The laughter. The trust. They were going to be a family.
Gripping her bouquet, she came forward. The judge took a deep breath.
“My friends,” the man intoned, “we are gathered here today...”
There was a hubbub at the door. Someone was hoarsely yelling, trying to push in. Daisy whirled to look.
A gray-haired man was trying to push into the ballroom, struggling against the two beefy security guards.
Franck Bain.
Daisy’s lips parted. Why was he here? How had he found out?
“You can’t marry him!” the middle-aged artist cried, his shrill voice echoing across the ballroom. “Don’t do it, Daisy! I can take care of you!”
Leonidas made a gesture to two other guards hovering nearby, and they quickly moved to assist. The four security guards grabbed the thin man, who was struggling and panting for breath.
“Don’t marry him!” Franck gasped. “He’s a liar who killed your father—an innocent man!”
As he was forcibly pulled from the ballroom, the double doors closed with a bang.
A very uncomfortable silence fell.
“Shall I continue?” the judge said.
The guests looked at each other, then at the bridal couple. The PR team, who were filming the event live for Liontari’s social media feeds, seemed beside themselves with delight at the unscripted drama.
Daisy’s heart thundered in her chest. She wanted to fling away her bouquet, to make a run for it—run from all the judgment and guilt, her own most of all.
But her gaze fell on her engagement ring, sparkling on her hand, resting on her pregnant belly. Run away? That would truly be the act of a coward. No matter how much anyone criticized her for it, she’d already made her decision. She was bound to Leonidas, not just by their child, but by her word, freely given four days before.
I’ll marry you, Leo.
Daisy met Leonidas’s burning gaze, and she tried to smile. She nodded at the judge, who swiftly resumed the ceremony.
Ten minutes later, they were signing the marriage certificate. And just like that, they were wed.
Leonidas kissed her as the judge pronounced them husband and wife, but his kiss was oddly polite and formal. As they accepted the congratulations of their guests, Daisy’s friends also seemed uncomfortable, their eyes sliding away awkwardly even as they pretended to smile.
At the wedding reception, held on the other side of the elegant ballroom, the very best champagne and liquor was served, all from Liontari’s brands. The PR crew gleefully filmed all the glamorous, exotic guests, the wealthy and the beautiful and brightly bohemian, laughing and dancing and eating lobster, pretending to have the time of their lives.
But underneath it, Daisy felt hollow.
Don’t marry him. He’s a liar who killed your father—an innocent man.
The reception seemed to last forever. Leonidas was strangely distant, even though he was right beside her, and after hours of forced smiling, Daisy’s face ached. Finally, the last guest drank the last flute of champagne, left the last gift, and departed. Even Mrs. Berry left, with Sunny in tow, leaving only the bridal couple and the PR team in the ballroom.
“You can go,” Leonidas told them. The PR woman looked back brightly.
“I was thinking, Mr. Niarxos, we could come on your honeymoon, if you like, and get shots of you two kissing and frolicking on the beach—”
Beach? What beach? Daisy frowned. They hadn’t planned a honeymoon. Did the woman imagine them at Coney Island or the Jersey shore? Only if “frolicking” meant shivering to death in the cool March weather!
“That kind of access would be invaluable,” the PR woman chirped. “It would almost certainly go viral—”
“No,” Leonidas said firmly. “No more filming.”
Daisy went almost weak with gratitude as the PR team departed, leaving them alone at last.
Leonidas turned to Daisy.
“Mrs. Niarxos,” he said quietly.
She swallowed. Her heart pounded as her husband pulled her closer. She felt his warmth and strength. She felt so right in her husband’s arms. This marriage was right. It had to be right.
He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Did you know Bain was going to come here?”
She shook her head a little shamefacedly. “I’m sorry.” She bit her lip, her cheeks hot. “I don’t know how he found out about the wedding. I didn’t tell him—”
“It’s all right. I don’t blame the man for wanting you.”
“You—you don’t?”
“Any man would,” Leonidas whispered. Lowering his head, he kissed her tenderly. Then he pulled back with a smile. “Our plane is waiting.”
“Plane?”
Leonidas took a deep breath. �
�I told you, if you agreed to marry me, I would hold nothing back. I’m a man of my word.”
Marry me. And I’ll hold nothing back. I will give you everything. When he’d said the words to her, she’d hoped he meant his heart. “So that means a honeymoon?”
He mumbled something. Frowning, she peered up at him.
“What?”
He lifted his head. “I’m taking you to Greece. To the island where I was born.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Mrs. Berry has already packed your suitcase.”
“What about Sunny?”
Leonidas smiled. “Mrs. Berry has promised to give her the same love she gives her own Yorkies at home.”
It was strange not to have Sunny with her, as they left ten minutes later for an overnight flight. After all the drama of the last few days leading up to their wedding, once they were settled on the private jet, Daisy felt her exhaustion. She promptly fell asleep in her husband’s arms and did not wake again until an hour before they landed on the small Greek island in the Aegean.
As they came down the steps from their private jet to the tarmac, Daisy looked around, blinking in the bright Greek sun. A burst of heat hit her skin.
It was already summer on this island. She was glad she’d taken a shower on the plane and dressed for the weather, in a white sundress and sandals. Her hair was freshly brushed and long, flowing over her bare shoulders. Even Leonidas was dressed casually—at least, casually for him—in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, top buttons undone, over black trousers.
To her surprise, no driver came to the small airport to collect them; instead, a vintage convertible was parked near their hangar, left by one of his staff members.
“Get in,” Leonidas said with a lazy smile, as he tossed their suitcases in the back. He drove them away from the tiny airport, along the cliffside road.
Daisy’s hair flew in the warm breeze of the convertible, as she looked around a seaside Greek village. She’d never seen anything so lovely as the picturesque white buildings, many covered with pink flowers and blue rooftops, with the turquoise sea and white sand beach beneath the cliffs.
