by Dani Collins
An urge to touch him struck her. Sexual desire wasn’t something that normally hit her out of the blue like this, but she found herself growing warm with more than embarrassment. She wondered what it would be like to roam her mouth over his torso, to tongue his nipples and lick his skin. She felt an urge to splay her hands over his muscled waist and explore lower, push aside his waistband and possess.
Coils of sexual need tightened in her belly.
Where was the lead-up? The part where she spent ages kissing and nuzzling before she decided maybe she’d like to take things a little further? She never flashed to shoving down a man’s pants and stroking him!
But that fantasy hit her along with a deep yearning and a throbbing pinch between her legs.
Was he getting hard? The front of his shorts lifted.
She realized where her gaze had fixated and jerked her eyes back to his, shocked with herself and at his blatant reaction.
His expression was arrested, yet filled with consideration and—she caught her breath—yes, that was an invitation. An arrogant Help yourself. Along with something predatory. Something that was barely contained. Decision. Carnal hunger.
The air grew so sexually charged, she couldn’t find oxygen in it. The rhythm of her breaths changed, becoming subtle pants. Her nipples were stimulated by the shift of the robe against the lace of her bra. She became both wary and meltingly receptive.
This was crazy. She shook her head, as if she could erase all this sexual tension like an app that erased content on her phone if she joggled it back and forth hard enough.
With monumental effort, she jerked her gaze from his and stared blindly at the streak of light between the curtains. She folded her arms in self-protection and kept him in her periphery.
This was really stupid, letting him bring her into his bedroom like this. A single woman who lived in the city knew to be more careful.
“Use the ice,” he said with what sounded like a hint of dry laughter in his tone. He nodded toward a side table where an ice pack sat on a small bar towel.
“It’s not that bad,” she dismissed. She’d had worse. Her lip might be puffed a little at the corner, but it was nothing like the time she’d walked around with a huge black eye, barely able to see out of it, openly telling people that Grigor had struck her. You shouldn’t talk back to him, her teacher had said, mouth tight, gaze avoiding hers.
Grigor shouldn’t have called her a whore and burned all her photos of her mother, she had retorted, but no one had wanted to hear that.
Mikolas didn’t say anything, only came toward her, making her snap her head around and warn him off with a look.
Putting his glass down, he lifted his phone and clicked, taking a photo of her, surprising her so much she scowled.
“What are you doing?”
“Documenting. I assume Grigor will claim you were hurt falling into the water,” he advised with cool detachment.
“You don’t want me to try to discredit your business partner? Is that what you’re saying? Are you going to take a photo after you leave your own mark on the other side of my face?” It was a dicey move, daring him like that, but she was so sick of people protecting Grigor. And she needed to know Mikolas’s intentions, face them head-on.
Mikolas’s stony eyes narrowed. “I don’t hit women.” His mouth pulled into a smile that was more an expression of lethal power than anything else. “And Grigor has discredited himself.” He tilted the phone to indicate the photo. “Which may prove useful.”
Viveka’s insides tightened as she absorbed how cold-blooded that was.
“I didn’t know Grigor had another daughter.” Mikolas moved to take up his drink again. “Do you want one?” he asked, glancing toward the small wet bar next to the television. Both were inset against the shiny wood-grain cabinetry.
She shook her head. Better to keep her wits.
“Grigor isn’t my father.” She always took great satisfaction in that statement. “My mother married him when I was four. She died when I was nine. He doesn’t talk about her, either.”
Or the boating accident. Her heart clenched like a fist, trying to hang on to her memories of her mother, knotting in fury at the lack of a satisfactory explanation, wanting to beat the truth from Grigor if she had to.
“Do you have a name?” he asked.
“Viveka.” The corner of her mouth pulled as she realized they’d come this far without it. She was practically naked, wearing a robe that had brushed his own skin and surrounded her in the scent of his aftershave. “Brice,” she added, not clarifying that most people called her Vivi.
“Viveka,” he repeated, like he was trying out the sound. They were speaking English and his thick accent gave an exotic twist to her name as he shaped out the Vive and added a short, hard ka to the end.
She licked her lips, disturbed by how much she liked the way he said it.
“Why the melodrama, Viveka? I asked your sister if she was agreeable to this marriage. She said yes.”
“Do you think she would risk saying no to something Grigor wanted?” She pointed at the ache on her face.
Mikolas’s expression grew circumspect as he dropped his gaze into his drink, thumb moving on the glass. It was the only indication his thoughts were restless beneath that rock-face exterior.
“If she wants more time,” he began.
“She’s marrying someone else,” she cut in. “Right this minute, if all has gone to plan.” She glanced for a clock, but didn’t see one. “She knew Stephanos at school and he worked on Grigor’s estate as a landscaper.”
Trina had loved the young man from afar for years, never wanting to tip her hand to Grigor by so much as exchanging more than a shy hello with Stephanos, but she had waxed poetic to Viveka on dozens of occasions. Viveka hadn’t believed Stephanos returned the crush until Trina’s engagement to Mikolas had been announced.
“When Stephanos heard she was marrying someone else, he asked Trina to elope. He has a job outside of Athens.” One that Grigor couldn’t drop the ax upon.
“Weeding flower beds?” Mikolas swirled his drink. “She could have kept him on the side after we married, if that’s what she wanted.”
“Really,” Viveka choked.
He shrugged a negligent shoulder. “This marriage is a business transaction, open to negotiation. I would have given her children if she wanted them, or a divorce eventually, if that was her preference. She should have spoken to me.”
“Because you’re such a reasonable man—who just happens to trade women like stocks and bonds.”
“I’m a man who gets what he wants,” he said in a soft voice, but it was positively deadly. “I want this merger.”
He sounded so merciless her heart skipped in alarm. Gangster. She found a falsely pleasant smile.
“I wish you great success in making your dreams come true. Do you mind if I wear this robe to my boat? I can bring it back after I dress or maybe one of your staff could come with me?” She pushed her hand into the pocket and gripped her credit card, feeling the edge dig into her palm. Where was Grigor? she wondered. She had no desire to pass him on the dock and get knocked into the water again—this time unconscious.
Mikolas’s expression didn’t change. He said nothing, but she had the impression he was laughing at her again.
Something made her look toward the office and the view beyond the bow. The marina was tucked against a very small indent on the island’s coastline. The view from shore was mostly an expanse of the Aegean. But the boats weren’t passing in front of this craft. They were coming and going on both sides. The slant of sunlight on the water had shifted.
The yacht was moving.
“Are you kidding me?” she screeched.
CHAPTER FOUR
MIKOLAS THREW BACK the last of his ouzo, clenched his t
eeth against the burn and set aside his glass with a decisive thunk. He searched for the void that he usually occupied, but he couldn’t find it. He was swirling in a miasma of lascivious need, achingly hard after the way Viveka had stared at his crotch and swallowed like her mouth was watering.
He absently ran a hand across his chest where his nipples were so sharp they pained him and adjusted himself so he wouldn’t pop out of his shorts, resisting the urge to soothe the ache with a squeeze of his fist.
His reaction to her was unprecedented. He was an experienced man, had a healthy appetite for sex, but had never reacted so immediately and irrepressibly to any woman.
This lack of command over himself disturbed him. Infuriated him. He was insulted at being thrown over for a gardener and unclear on his next move. Retreat was never an option for him, but he’d left the island to regroup. That smacked of cowardice and he pinned the blame for all of it on this woman.
While she stood there with her hand closed over the lapels of his robe, holding it tight beneath her throat. Acting virginal when she was obviously as wily and experienced as any calculating opportunist he’d ever met.
“Let’s negotiate our terms, Viveka.” From the moment she had admitted to being Trina’s sister he had seen the logical way to rescue this deal. Hell, by turning up in Trina’s gown she’d practically announced to him how this would play out.
Of course it was a catch-22. He wasn’t sure he wanted such a tempting woman so close to him, but he refused to believe she was anything he couldn’t handle.
Viveka only flashed him a disparaging look and spun toward the door.
He didn’t bother stopping her. He followed at a laconic pace as she scurried her way out to the stern of the mid-deck. Grasping the rail in one hand, she shaded her eyes with the other, scanning the empty horizon. She quickly threw herself to the port side. Gazing back to the island, which had been left well behind them, she made a distressed noise and glared at him again, expression white.
“Is Grigor on board?”
“Why would he be?”
“I don’t know!” Her shoulders relaxed a notch, but she continued to look anxious. “Why did you leave the island?”
“Why would I stay?”
“Why would you take me?” she cried.
“I want to know why you’ve taken your sister’s place.”
“You didn’t have to leave shore for that!”
“You wanted Grigor present? He seemed to be inflaming things.” Grigor hadn’t expected his departure, either. Mikolas’s phone had already buzzed several times with calls from his would-be business partner.
That had been another reason for Mikolas’s departure. If he’d stayed, he might have assaulted Grigor. The white-hot urge had been surprisingly potent and yes, that too had been provoked by this exasperating woman.
It wasn’t a desire to protect her, Mikolas kept telling himself. His nature demanded he dominate, particularly over bullies and brutes. His personal code of ethics wouldn’t allow him to stand by and watch any man batter a woman.
But Grigor’s attack on this one had triggered something dark and primal in him, something he didn’t care to examine too closely. Since cold-blooded murder was hardly a walk down the straight and narrow that was his grandfather’s expectation of him, he’d taken himself out of temptation’s reach.
“I had a boat hired! All my things are on it.” Viveka pointed at the island. “Take me back!”
Such a bold little thing. Time to let her know who was boss.
“Grigor promised this merger if I married his daughter.” He gave her a quick once-over. “His stepdaughter will do.”
She threw back her head. “Ba-ha-ha,” she near shouted and shrugged out of his robe, dropping it to the deck. “No. ’Bye.” Something flashed in her hand as she started to climb over the rail.
She was fine-boned and supple and so easy to take in hand. Perhaps he took more enjoyment than he should in having another reason to touch her. Her skin was smooth and warm, her wrists delicate in his light grip as he calmly forced them behind her back, trapping her between the rail and his body.
She strained to look over her shoulder, muttering, “Oh, you—!” as something fell into the water with a glint of reflected light. “That was my credit card. Thanks a lot.”
“Viveka.” He was stimulated by the feel of her naked abdomen against his groin, erection not having subsided much and returning with vigor. Her spiked heels were gone, which was a pity. They’d been sexy as hell, but when it came to rubbing up against a woman, the less clothes the better.
She smelled of his shampoo, he noted, but there was an intriguing underlying scent that was purely hers: green tea and English rain. And that heady scent went directly into his brain, numbing him to everything but thoughts of being inside her.
Women were more subtle than men with their responses, but he read hers as clearly as a billboard. Not just the obvious signs like the way her nipples spiked against the pattern of her see-through bra cups, erotically abrading his chest and provoking thoughts of licking and sucking at them until she squirmed and moaned. A blush stained her cheeks and she licked her lips. There was a bonelessness to her. He could practically feel the way her blood moved through her veins like warm honey. He knew instinctively that opening his mouth against her neck would make her shiver and surrender to him. Her arousal would feed into his and they’d take each other to a new dimension.
Where did that ridiculous notion come from? He was no sappy poet. He tried to shake the idea out of his head, but couldn’t rid himself of the certainty that sex with her would be the best he’d ever known. They were practically catching fire from this light friction. His heart was ramping with strength in his chest, his body magnetized to hers.
He was incensed with her, he reminded himself, but he was also intrigued by this unique attunement they had. Logic told him it was dangerous, but the primitive male inside him didn’t give a damn. He wanted her.
“This is kidnapping. And assault,” she said, giving a little struggle against his grip. “I thought you didn’t hurt women.”
“I don’t let them hurt themselves, either. You’ll kill yourself jumping into the water out here.”
Something flickered in her expression. Her skin was very white compared with her sister’s. How had he not noticed that from the very first, veil notwithstanding?
“Stop behaving like a spoiled child,” he chided.
She swung an affronted look to him like it was the worst possible insult he could level at her. “How about you stop acting like you own the world?”
“This is my world. You walked into it. Don’t complain how I run it.”
“I’m trying to leave it.”
“And I’ll let you.” Something twisted in his gut, as if that was a lie. A big one. “After you fix the damage you’ve done.”
“How do you suggest I do that?”
“Marry me in your sister’s place.”
She made a choking noise and gave another wriggle of protest, heel hooking on the lower rung of the rail as if she thought she could lift herself backward over the rail.
All she managed to do was pin herself higher against him. She stilled. Hectic color deepened in her cheekbones.
He smiled, liking what she’d done. Her movement had opened her legs and brought her cleft up to nestle against his shaft. She’d caught the same zing of sexual excitement that her movement had sent through him. He nudged lightly, more of a tease than a threat, and watched a delicate shiver go through her.
It was utterly enthralling. He could only stare at her parted, quivering mouth. He wanted to cover and claim it. He wanted to drag his tongue over every inch of her. Wanted to push at his elastic waistband, press aside that virginal white lace and thrust into the heat that was branding him through the thin layers between them.<
br />
He had expected to spend this week frustrated. Now he began to forgive her for this switch of hers. They would do very nicely together. Very. Nicely.
“Let’s take this back to my stateroom.” His voice emanated from somewhere deep in his chest, thick with the desire that gripped him.
Her eyes flashed with fear before she said tautly, “To consummate a marriage that won’t happen? Did you see how Grigor reacted to me? He’ll never let me sub in for Trina. If anything would make him refuse your merger, marrying me would do it.”
* * *
Mikolas slowly relaxed his grip and stepped back, trailing light fingers over the seams at her hips.
Goose bumps rose all over her, but she ignored it, hoping her knickers weren’t showing the dampness that had released at the feel of him pressed against her.
What was wrong with her? She didn’t even do sex. Kissing and petting were about it.
She dipped to pick up the robe and knotted it with annoyance. How could she be this hot when the wind had cooled to unpleasant and the sky was thickening with clouds?
She sent an anxious look at the ever-shrinking island amid the growing whitecaps. It was way too far to swim. Mikolas might have done her a favor taking her out of Grigor’s reach, but being at sea thinned her composure like it was being spun out from a spool.
“You’re saying if I want Grigor to go through with the merger, I should turn you over to him?” he asked.
“What? No!” Such terror slammed into her, her knees nearly buckled. “Why would you even think of doing something like that?”
“The merger is important to me.”
“My life is important to me.” Tears stung her eyes and she had to blink hard to be able to see him. She had a feeling her lips were trembling. Where was the man who had saved her? Right now, Mikolas looked as conscienceless as Grigor.
Crushed to see that indifference, she hid her distress by averting her gaze and swallowed back the lump in her throat.
“This is nothing,” she said with as much calm as she could, pointing at her face, trying to reach through to the man who had said he didn’t hurt women. “Barely a starting point for him. I’d rather take my chances with the sharks.”
